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. 









The Haunted 
Husband 

By Mrs. Harriet Lewis, 

Author of “Her Double Life,” etc. 
ILLUSTRATED BY VICTOR PERARD, 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 
Publishers. 




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THE HAUNTED HUSBAND. 


71 kernel. 


BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 

Author of “ Lady Kildare “Beryl's Husband f “ The Old 
Life's Shadows “Neva's Three Lovers 


IF/T// ILLUSTRATIONS BY VICTOR PERARD. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

PUBLISHERS. 


wv * 


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JANUARY 1, 1893. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS 8EC0ND CLA88 MAIL MATTER. 


*rr.; 


t 





Copyright, 1872 and 1892, 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(ALL rights reserved.) 



THE HAUNTED HUSBAND. 


+ 

CHAPTER I. 

A MYSTERY OF ST. KILDA. 

HE island of St. Kilda, the outermost 
island of the group of the Outer Heb- 
rides, lies a hundred and fifty miles 
to the westward of Scotland, and is 
a mere rock in the midst of a lonely 
and fretful sea. 

The climate of this bare and des- 
olate islet comprises six months of 
winter, in which no vessel dare 
approach the storm-lashed rock, and 
in which, therefore, no token of the outside world can 
come to the islanders. Their village is situated on the 
west bay, and looks, as one has aptly said, from the 
peculiar forms of the roofs, not unlike a Hottentot kraal. 
Prominent among these humble thatched dwellings are 
the small church and the manse, in which resides with 
his family the pastor of this dreary and lone sea parish. 

[ 7 ] 



8 


The Haunted Husband. 


One October afternoon, a few years ago, a girl stood 
upon the summit of one of the dizzy and beetling cliffs 
overlooking the bay and the great restless Atlantic, at 
a point to which few of the daring young fowlers of St. 
Kilda would have dared to climb. Her garments were 
blowing in the free salt wind. Her unbound hair 
streamed behind her in a dun cloud. Her dusky eyes 
were shaded by one slender brown hand, and gazed 
down upon the waters of the bay with keen and unrest- 
ful glances. 

She was scarcely seventeen years old, and as wild and 
free as the birds circling above her. She was not beau- 
tiful — she was too thin and dark for beauty — but there 
was the promise of a glorious loveliness in the passion- 
ate young face, in the tremulously eager mouth, and in 
the delicately cut features. She was as brown as a 
gypsy, and as light and lithe, with a gypsy grace in her 
slender figure and fearless attitude, a tender sweetness 
in her big brown eyes, and a shade of natural haughti- 
ness upon the broad, frank, noble brows. 

She was known as Bernice Gwellan, the adopted 
daughter of the Rev. David Gwellan, the pastor of St. 
Kilda. She had spent nearly all her life on the island. 
She remembered no shores save those rocky bluffs, no 
people save these rude inhabitants of St. Kilda. But 
she was not like them. 

The good minister and his wife — the former Welsh by 
birth, the latter a Scotch woman — were educated and 
accomplished, and fitted to adorn a refined society. 

The worthy pair had carefully educated their young 
charge, teaching her music, various languages, and all 
the accomplishments known to themselves. She was 
an apt scholar, refined even to daintiness, pure, sweet, 
arid true as truth itself ; but they had long since 
despaired of making her a parish teacher. She was like 


A Mystery of St. Kilda. 


9 


an eaglet in the nest of the dove, and her foster-parents 
were full of misgivings in regard to her future. What 
was to become of her ? She would never marry one of 
her rude native admirers. Would she fret out her life 
on this island rock, or would the eaglet some day find 
its wings and fly to a fairer shore ? 

Ah, the time was nearer than the good couple 
thought ! The eaglet had found its wings, and they 
were already poised for flight ! 

As Bernice stood upon the dangerous pinnacle of 
rock, her red gown fluttering in the wind, her wander- 
ing glances became fixed upon a sight rare indeed in 
those waters. A graceful English pleasure yacht was 
lying at anchor in the bay below. A few sailors, in 
trim costume of blue jackets and white trowsers 
lounged upon the deck. A boat manned by four sea- 
men was pushing off toward the shore, and in the stern 
of the boat lounged the owner of the yacht, the young 
Marquis of Chetwynd. 

Glancing upward, he beheld the girl’s figure upon the 
perilous point of rock high up the precipitous wall. 
He turned pale and waved his handkerchief to her, 
making a gesture to her to descend. 

The girl’s face lit up with a glow that for the moment 
transformed it into surpassing beauty. Her brilliant 
eyes burned with a tender flame. Answering the sig- 
nal of the young Englishman, she began her descent, 
leaping from crag to crag like a chamois, while he 
watched her progress with suspended breath. 

At last, as the boat struck the beach, Bernice came to 
a halt in a natural grotto, from which the descent to the 
shore was not difficult. 

It was here the young marquis presently found her. 
He came up the rocks calling her name, and for answer 
there stole out to him a burst of weird, sweet music, as 


IO 


I'he Haunted Husband. 


the girl swept the strings of her guitar with her hand. 
He entered the grotto and advanced toward her with 
outstretched hands, but she retreated before him, shy 
and coquettish, and, circling him, was again at the 
mouth of the grotto and out upon the crags. 

“ Bernice,” said the young lord, in a tone of chagrin, 
“is this your welcome of me ? You are as shy of me 
as yonder eider-ducks. You have never even let me 
kiss your lips. And yet you have said that you love 
me — ” 

“ Girls don’t mean all they say,” interrupted Bernice, 
saucily. “ I wonder what brought you up here to-day, 
Lord Chetwynd. But as you are here, let us finish 
reading ‘ Maud.’ Will you get out the Tennyson, or 
shall I ?” 

The young lord’s face grew pale and stern. He was 
very handsome after the purest Saxon type, with fair 
hair and blue eyes, and with a golden mustache shad- 
ing his firm mouth and drooping upon his delicate chin. 
He was tall and slender, refined in appearance almost 
to effeminacy, yet his taper fingers were capable of a 
grip of iron, and his blue eyes had in them, at times, a 
light like the flashing of a polished steel sword in the sun- 
light. He was brave as a lion. He was noble to his 
heart’s core. He scorned a lie ; was honorable even to 
Quixotism ; was generous, unselfish — was, in short, the 
grandest, noblest type of a gentleman. To simple, 
island-bred little Bernice, he seemed a demi-god. 

“ Women are all alike,” said his lordship, bitterly. 
“ Let one grow up all alone, in the desert of Sahara 
even, and she will inevitably be a coquette. I have not 
come here to-day to read Tennyson, Bernice. Our 
summer idyl is over. I left home in May for a three 
months’ trip to Norway and Denmark, and having 
strayed to St. Kilda in August, have remained here 


A Mystery of St. Kilda . 


1 1 


since. The long winter of storm and snow will soon 
close in upon this island, when no vessel can enter or 
leave this bay, and I must go. My skipper is full of 
prophecies of evil if we linger. In short, Bernice, the 
Sylvia will sail to-morrow.” 

The girl started, her brown cheeks paling, and a 
frightened look leaping to her eyes. 

“ To-morrow !” she echoed. “ So soon ! Oh, Roy, I 
had not thought that you must ever leave St. Kilda. 
To-morrow ! Oh, no, you are joking. Say, Roy, that 
you are only teasing me !” 

“ Shall you care, then ?” cried the young lord, eagerly. 
“ I must go, Bernice. I have friends, duties, a place in 
life, and I cannot stay longer here. My friends have 
not heard from me in four months, and they will be 
anxious about me. They think me in Norway still. 
You see I must go, Bernice ; but I need not go alone. 
I came here to-day to ask you to go with me as my 
wife. I love you better than all the world. My love 
for you is like that wild, mad passion Romeo felt for 
Juliet. Two months ago I did not know that you 
lived ; to-day you are my life, my soul, the one being to 
me of all the universe. Bernice, I will not go without 
you !” 

“I cannot let you leave me,” she whispered. “Oh, 
Roy ! this world would be dark to me without you ! 
How have I lived until I knew you ? Another winter at 
St. Kilda, shut in by the angry Atlantic and the fright- 
ful winds, would be unendurable to me, after this bright, 
sweet, late summer. But you are rich and titled, Roy, 
and I am only a poor island girl. Will you never 
become tired of me ? Will you never be ashamed of 
me ? Will you never regret the generous love that 
impels you to make me your wife ?” 

“ ‘ Love levels all ranks,’ Bernice, and you and I are 


The. H minted Husband. 


1 2 


equal. I have money and title ; you have genius and 
goodness, and a strange power of fascination. I would 
rather be your husband, than to be king of all the earth. 
My marriage with you will be the crowning joy of my 
life, as I pray it may be of yours.” 

“ But, Roy, what will your friends say ?” 

“I have neither father nor mother,” said the young 
marquis, half sadly ; “ and as my uncles and aunts do not 
consult me about their plans, they will scarcely expect 
me to consult them about mine. My nearest friends can- 
not justly be called my relatives, Bernice. They share my 
home, and will be your nearest friends and companions. 
They are my step-brother and step-sister, the children 
of my mother’s second husband, and they are especi- 
ally dear to me.” 

“You never spoke of them to me before, Roy.” 

“ Did I not ? It must be because when I am with you 
I can think of no one but you,” said Lord Chetwynd, 
smiling brightly and lovingly down upon her. “ I must 
make amends for my silence now. My father died in 
my early boyhood, Bernice. I was Lord Chetwynd 
before I went to Eton. My mother, a fair and gentle 
lady, whom you would have loved, remained a widow 
for some years, and finally married a second time, while 
I was at Oxford. Her second husband was Colonel the 
Honorable Gilbert Monk, the brother of an earl, an old 
East Indian officer, a dark-browed man of wonderful 
fascinations, who married my mother through the sheer 
force of his own will, and not through any especial love 
on either side. It was a singular and unsuitable mar- 
riage, and I was never reconciled to it. Colonel Monk 
had been previously married in India, and had two chil- 
dren, born in India, whom he brought with him to 
Chetwynd Park. In the second year of his marriage to 
my mother Colonel Monk died. As his fortune, an 


A Mystery of St. Kildci. 


13 


annuity, died with him, his children were but slenderly 
provided for, and in his last moments Colonel Monk 
entreated my mother to promise that she would be a 
mother to them. The promise was readily given. A 
little over a year ago my mother also died, and be- 
queathed to me her step-children as a special charge, to 
be befriended and provided for by me. I gave her my 
solemn promise that Sylvia should always have a home 
at Chetwynd Park. They seem like brother and sister 
to me, and share my home, as I said, as if they possessed 
a right there equal or only less than mine.” 

“ How old are they, Roy ?” 

“ Gilbert is two years older than I — five-and-twenty, 
in fact, — and Sylvia — I named my yacht for her — is 
two-and-twenty. « Gilbert has no profession, and 
depends upon me as a younger brother might depend 
upon an elder. I believe his chief ambition is to 
achieve a rich marriage. Sylvia will no doubt con- 
tract a brilliant marriage some day, but I hope she will 
remain with us for many, many years. You will love 
her at sight. How surprised Gilbert and Sylvia will be 
when I return to them with my bride ! You will sail 
with me to-morrow, will you not, Bernice ?” 

“ If my parents are willing,” the girl answered softly, 
her brown face aglow with blushes. 

“ Let us go to them at once,” cried the young lover, 
all eagerness and impatience. •“ Your father must have 
seen that I love you, Bernice. I have been at the 
manse every day since my arrival at this island. I 
brought him letters from a Scottish minister, Mrs. 
Gwellan’s cousin, and he knows my whole history. 
Had he intended to refuse me your hand, he vrould not 
have permitted our rambles among the cliffs, our rows 
along the coast, and our excursions over the island and 
up the hills. 


H 


The Haunted Husband. 


His lordship was eager to put his fate to the test, and 
the young pair presently set out to descend the crags 
on their way to the manse. 

On reaching the dwelling, Lord Chetwynd pleaded 
his cause so eloquently that the old clergyman said : 

“ My lord, you tempt me beyond my powers of resist- 
ance. My health is feeble. If I were to die, my wife 
would go back to her own kindred in Scotland, but they 
are too poor to give Bernice also a home. She is igno- 
rant of the world. What would become of her ? She 
could not be left here among these islanders. What 
shall we say, Caroline ? Can we give up the child to 
Lord Chetwynd ?” 

The two eager young faces turned pleadingly to 
Mrs. Gwellan. She yielded to the mute prayer, and 
assented to the minister’s question. 

“ One word, then, Lord Chetwynd,” said Mr. Gwellan, 
as the young lord would have poured forth his grati- 
tude — “ only one word. Before this matter is decided, 
let me tell you all we know about our dear child. She 
is not of our blood. We do not know who she is, nor 
whence she came. We believe her to be of English 
birth, but beyond that we know nothing about her. 
We have lived on this island some twenty years. Four- 
teen years ago — it was October then as now — an Eng- 
lish yacht, much like yours put into our bay at night- 
fall. She sailed at daybreak. We never knew her 
name. The night was dark and misty. A boat put off 
from the yacht, bringing ashore a gentleman with a 
sleeping child, a mere baby of two years, in his arms. 
He found his way to the manse, and demanded a pri- 
vate interview with me. He told me that the little 
child was an orphan, and he desired to leave her in the 
care of my wife and myself. He desired us to bring 
her up as our own child. He said that she was of 


A Mystery of St. Kilda. 


15 


gentle birth, and must be educated carefully and thor- 
oughly. He said that he would return and reclaim her 
within five years, and he left a large sum of money for 
her support. He sailed, as I said, at dawn. The five 
years passed, and he did not come. Other years went 
by, and now fourteen are passed, and we have never 
heard of or from him.” 

“ Strange !” said Lord Chetwynd. “ What was his 
name ?” 

“ He gave the name of South, but we think that may 
have been an assumed name.” 

“ Did you think him the father of the child ?” 

“Yes — and no. He said she was an orphan, but he 
embraced her when he went away, straining her little 
form to him in a sort of anguish and despair. He was 
evidently a gentleman, but one who had known some 
terrible sorrow that had wrecked his life.” 

“ Why did he never return to claim his child ?” 

“ We think he must have died before the time he had 
appointed for his return,” said Mr. Gwellan. “ He never 
came, never sent any message ; surely he must have 
died. We have brought Bernice up, as he directed, as 
our own child. He called her Bernice South, but desired 
me to give her my own surname, w T hich I did, having a 
conviction that he had not given me her true name. 
But the little creature was so pale and wan, so shy and 
sweet and winning, that my poor wife, who mourned 
our childlessness, took to her at once, and begged to be 
allowed to keep her. Bernice has been a sacred charge 
to us, and our hearts will be sore when she shall have 
gone. But has not this recital of our girls history 
warned you to pause, my lord, in this matter which is to 
control your whole future life ? English noblemen are 
wont to be more prudent in their marriages. Bernice 
is herself pure and noble, and she will have no relatives 


i6 


The Haunted Husband. 


turning up at inconvenient times to annoy you ; but she 
has no stately name, no long line of ancestry — so far as 
we know. It is possible even, that were her true history 
known, you might shrink from her.” 

“ I suppose it is your duty to say all this to me, Mr. 
Gwellan,” said the young marquis impatiently, “but I 
am no cold-blooded man to consider the dictates of 
worldly prudence instead of the promptings of my own 
heart. As to descent, Bernice and I are alike descended 
from one common ancestor. Bernice is worthy to be a 
queen. I love her, and I again entreat your consent to 
our marriage.” 

Mr. Gwellan yielded to his lordship’s impassioned 
pleading, and the next day the young pair were married 
in the little church and immediately set sail for home 
on the yacht. 

The old minister and his wife stood on the stormy 
beach, and watched the dim outlines of the vessel with 
weeping eyes. 

“ It is hard to let her go,” sobbed Mrs. Gwellan, cling- 
ing to her husband’s arm ; “ but we are old, David, and 
it is best. Whatever happens to us, our darling is pro- 
vided for.” 

It was an enchanted voyage to the young Marquis 
and Marchioness of Chetwynd, from St. Kilda to the 
shores of Scotland. 

They arrived at Inverness one rainy morning, and 
the young couple quitted the yacht, proceeding to a 
hotel. Lord Chetwynd gave directions that the Sylvia 
should proceed at once to Portsmouth, while he contin- 
ued his journey homeward quite leisurely by rail, with 
his bride. 

The first express train to the southward bore the 
Marquis and Marchioness on their way to Edinburgh, 


A Mystery of St. Kilda . 


1 7 


where they arrived in the course of a few hours, going 
directly to the Royal Hotel. 

The pair were installed in their apartments at once. 

Bernice tossed aside her antiquated straw bonnet, of 
a fashion long extinct, and walked to one of the win- 
dows looking out upon Princess street Gardens with 
eager curiosity. 

“ How very strange everything is !” she said, with a 
long breath. “ See how short and scanty the dresses of 
the women are ; and how strangely they dress their hair, 
and what queer little bonnets they wear. Oh, Roy, I 
feel so different from them. I shall not dare walk in 
the streets,’' and Bernice gave a glance down at her full 
straight gown. “ I wonder you ever wanted me, Roy 
I’m such a contrast to the ladies here.” 

The young lord smiled, and drew her slight figure to 
him, and they looked out of the window together. 

“ I have secured a jewel of rare value, Bernice,” he 
said, tenderly, “ and a suitable setting can be easily 
procured. To-morrow we will proceed to transform 
my gray little chrysalis into a gay little butterfly. We 
shall stay at Edinburgh a week, interspersing the 
duties of shopping with the delights of sight-seeing, 
and then we shall go down to our home in Sussex. I 
shall write this very evening to my step-brother and 
sister, informing them of our marriage, and asking 
them to prepare a proper reception for us. The Mar- 
chioness of Chetwynd must not arrive at her husband’s 
house like any mere guest.” 

The programme thus hinted was acted upon. 

Dinner was served to the pair in their own private 
sitting-room. After the table had been cleared, the 
marquis produced writing materials, and engaged upon 
a long and confidential letter to his connections, detail- 


i8 


The Haunted Hits band. 


ing the fact and circumstances of his marriage in the 
rapturous language of a happy bridegroom. 

“ How surprised they will be to hear that I am mar- 
ried !” said the young lord, pausing in his task to look 
lovingly into the piquant face at his side. “ And how 
pleased they will be ! I am not particularly fond of 
Gilbert Monk, little Bernice ; but he is devoted to me 
and my interests, and my mother liked him. But Syl- 
via is as dear to me as if she were my own sister.” 

“ Is she beautiful ?” asked Bernice, in a tone of 
interest. 

“ She is considered very handsome,” answered the 
marquis, “ but she does not quite answer to my ideal of 
absolute beauty. She is a loving, clinging, dependent 
sort of girl, essentially feminine, thoroughly refined, 
and a perfect lady. I hope you will love her, Bernice. 
I want her to feel that our home is hers, and that she 
has a sacred right there, and I know you will share my 
wish. Since my mother’s death I have given Sylvia — 
as the sister — an annual allowance of two hundred 
pounds, her own private income being only half that 
amount. I fancy that Sylvia knows no difference of 
affection between that she feels for her brother and 
that for me.” 

“ I am sure I shall love her,” said Bernice, with a lit- 
tle flush of enthusiasm. “ I never had a sister nor a 
girl friend, Roy, and I have always longed for one. I 
wonder you did not love Miss Monk as you love me,” 
she added smiling. “ I wonder you did not marry her, 
Roy, instead of marrying a little nobody from St. Kilda.” 

Lord Chetwynd’s face flushed as he responded : 

“ I had only a brother’s love for Sylvia, and she, of 
course, had only a sister’s love for me. I have been 
away from Chetwynd most of the time since my 
mother’s death, and have therefore seen but little of my 


A Mystery of St. Kilda. 


*9 


step-sister during the last year. But certainly, dearly 
as I esteem Sylvia, she does not at all answer to my 
ideal of a wife — as you do, little Bernice.” 

The next day Lord Chetwynd escorted his young 
bride upon a shopping expedition. Bernice had never 
been in a shop in her life — had never even seen one — 
but the knowledge she had derived from books and from 
Mrs. Gwellan stood her in place of experiences, and she 
was not guilty of a single awkwardness or mistake. 
She had a pure and refined taste, a natural predilection 
for elegant attire, and a love of rich and dainty fabrics, 
and these all found full gratification now for the first 
time. The day was spent among the varied glories of 
milliners and dressmakers, and before night the quaint 
little nun-like girl of St. Kilda was transformed into a 
fashionably attired young lady. 

The young marquis was delighted with the transfor- 
mation. Even her changed attire could not impart 
beauty to the small, dark, passionate face ; but the 
brilliant eyes, the high-bred patrician air, the upright 
carriage of the lithe, straight and slender figure, were 
all striking and awakened Lord Chetwynd’s pride in 
her. 

Upon the afternoon of the fourth day, as the young 
couple were seated in their own parlor, the marquis 
said : 

“ To-morrow we will continue our journey to London, 
Bernice ; and to-day, little wife, make your prettiest 
toilet, for I have a fancy that Gilbert Monk will arrive 
in time to dine with us. He will be all impatience to 
see you, I know, and will not await our coming at the 
Park.” 

A knock was heard at the door, and a servant 
entered, bearing an envelope on a salver. The enve- 


20 


The H minted Husband. 


lope inclosed a telegraphic dispatch, which the marquis 
hastily read. 

“ I was right,” he announced, with a beaming face. 
“ Gilbert is on his way to us. He will be here in an 
hour.” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SERPENTS IN THE DOVE’S NEST. 

Chetwynd Park is one of the grandest estates in 
Sussex, comprising nearly two thousand acres of some 
of the finest soil in England, divided into well-tilled 
farms, oak and beach forests, and the vast and finely 
kept park from which the estate derives its name. It 
has a mile or more of frontage upon the English Chan- 
nel, including a picturesque bay, shut in by tall chalk 
cliffs, and a strip of open, sloping beach. 

The mansion — the family residence of the Chet- 
wynds for centuries— is a grand and stately pile, irreg- 
ular, of great extent, and striking in appearance. It is 
of mixed styles of architecture, having been built, 
tower by tower, and wing by wing, during hundreds of 
years. 

The gray October afternoon was waning when a girl 
came out of the great house, and began walking back 
and forth upon the marble terrace which overlooked 
the Channel. She was dressed in a heavy crimson silk, 
which trailed after her in ruddy waves upon the white 
marble pavement, and was wrapped in an ermine 
jacket, wearing upon her head a little low-crowned hat, 
covered with nodding plumes. Her movements were 
full of a sinuous, serpentine grace. She glided rather 


The Serpents in the Dove s Nest. 


2 [ 


than walked, her manner of progression suggesting 
that of a graceful snake. 

This girl was Sylvia Monk, the step-sister of the 
young Marquis of Chetwynd. 

Miss Monk was beautiful, after a singular and some- 
what remarkable type. She was a brunette, but as 
unlike Bernice as could well be imagined. She was 
dark to swarthiness, with lips and cheeks of burning 
crimson. Her jet-black hair grew low upon her fore- 
head, and was drawn away in heavy rolls and bands. 
Her eyes were not large, and were half hidden by the 
heavy brown lids above them, but a line of intense black 
might be seen between the thick fringes. They were 
sleepy eyes, but upon occasion they could open wide, 
and flash and gleam, and then would be noticed the odd 
red flicker, like the glimmer of a living spark of fire, in 
the dull blackness. She was gentle, refined, and her 
manners were full of a tender, caressing sweetness. 
She had inherited her father’s power of fascination in a 
remarkable degree. 

She paused by the low carved marble balustrade of 
the terrace, and gazed out upon the Channel with long- 
ing in her half-shut eyes. She seemed to be looking for 
an expected sail, and was so absorbed in contemplation 
that she did not turn nor start when a man’s tread 
sounded behind her on the terrace, and a man 
approached her, coming also from the house. 

This man was her brother, Gilbert Monk. 

He was a short, stout, squarely built young fellow, 
with a swarthy face, and quick, restless black eyes. The 
lower half of his face was masked by a heavy black, 
silky beard. He was low-browed like his sister, but he 
had not her gentleness, softness, and insinuating sweet- 
ness. To the contrary, he was brusque, and affected a 
boisterous frankness and boyish bonhomie , and was gen- 


22 


The Haunted Husband . 


erally considered a rollicking, thoughtless, good-natured 
over-grown boy. 

“ Looking out for the Sylvia , as usual ?” he exclaimed, 
coining near his sister. “You look in vain, my dear. 
Don’t be a high-flown goose, Sylvia. I can make all 
allowance for lovers, although I have never experienced 
the tender passion myself, but there is such a thing as 
reason, and there is also such a thing as common-sense. 
I don’t like to see you pining for the marquis — ” 

“ Why should I not pine for him ?” interposed Miss 
Monk, in her silvery voice. “ Am I not his promised 
wife? Were we not betrothed at his mother’s death- 
bed ? Are we not engaged to be married ?” 

“ You were engaged to him, true enough, but all that 
is over, and you ought to realize the fact,” said Gilbert 
Monk, in a tantalizing tone, as if it delighted him to 
disturb the soft gentleness of Miss Monk’s habitual 
manner. “ You must remember that six months ago, you 
took Lord Chetwynd to task for his coldness and want 
of devotion to you, and that a lover’s quarrel ensued, 
and the result was the engagement between you was 
annulled, and he went cruising off to Norway. He is 
free, Sylvia, free to marry anybody he may happen to 
fall in love with. I must say you have been as foolish 
as a woman can be. You might have been Marchioness 
of Chetwynd to-day, if you hadn’t quarrelled with my 
lord. You might have had your house in town, your 
villa at Mentone, your box in the Highlands, but you 
flung them all from you in a fit of pique, because their 
owner did not fall at your feet and worship you.” 

“ I have not lost all these things, Gilbert,” said Miss 
Monk, quietly. “ I know my power over Roy. I nursed 
his mother through her last fatal illness, and Roy, 
who adored his mother, will never cease to be grateful 
for it. Roy never loved me, except as a sister, but his 


The Serpents in the Dove s Nest . 


2 3 


mother desired him to marry me, and he promised her 
he would. When I foolishly tried my power over him 
and offered him his freedom, he accepted it with an 
eagerness I did not expect; but he will come back to 
me loving, repentant, and we shall be lovers again.” 

“ Perhaps so,” said the young man, doubtfully. 
“ But what if Roy has made use of his freedom to fall 
in love with some fair Norwegian or Swedish girl ? 
Heaven knows where he is all these months. Fishing 
and cruising can’t occupy him all this time.” 

Miss Monk’s red cheeks faded slightly. 

“ You delight to torture me, Gilbert,” she exclaimed. 
‘‘Why, although I released him from our engagement, 
he must feel bound to me still. I have never regarded 
that solemn betrothal at his mother’s death-bed as dis- 
solved. He would not dare to marry. If he were to 
dare, I — I — ” 

The sudden red gleam from her opening eyes finished 
her sentence with dread effectiveness. 

Gilbert Monk uttered a boyish whistle. 

“ When Roy comes home,” resumed Sylvia, after a 
pause, “ I shall take an early occasion to let him know 
that I consider our engagement binding ; and I shall 
hurry up the marriage.” 

“ You can’t hurry it up too much to suit me,” de- 
clared her brother, with sudden earnestness. “ I am 
beset with creditors. I want money, and I sought you 
to-day in the hope of being able to borrow a few 
pounds.” 

“ I am nearly out of money myself. When I become 
Lady Chetwynd I will settle a handsome annuity upon 
you, Gilbert. As it is, my poor little income is hard 
run upon by both of us.” 

The sound of horse’s hoofs on the avenue caught 


24 


The Haunted Husband. 


Gilbert Monk’s attention. He looked in that direc- 
tion. 

“ The steward is come with the mail-bag,” he ex- 
claimed. “ See ! he waves his hat. He must have the 
long-expected letter from Chetwynd. Good news, Syl- 
via. Your lover is on his way home at last. I’ll bring 
you your letter.” 

He ran along the terrace like a boy and bounded 
down the massive flight of steps, hurrying toward the 
avenue. The steward came up, delivered to him the 
locked post-bag, and rode around to the stables. Monk 
returned to his sister. 

Sylvia had retreated to a low marble bench between 
two potted orange trees, and was awaiting him with 
agitation and anxiety. The key of the post-bag hung 
upon her watch-chain. She unlocked the bag with 
eager and trembling fingers, and plunged in both hands 
in quest of the expected prize. 

Several newspapers, a half-dozen dunning letters 
addressed to Gilbert Monk, were withdrawn and flung 
to the ground, and then, last of all came the letter Lord 
Chetwynd had sent from Edinburgh announcing his 
marriage. 

Sylvia caught up this missive, recognized the hand- 
writing, and pressed it to her lips. 

“ It is addressed to me,” she whispered, “ It is post- 
marked Edinburgh. See the date. He is coming home. 
Oh, Roy, my love, my love !” 

“Would it not be better to postpone this frantic joy 
until you discover what he says ?” asked Monk, cynic- 
ally. “ Of course he writes as a lover, but consider my 
impatience to learn the fact. I am anxious to know if I 
am to be brother-in-law to a marquis or not.” 

The girl tore open the letter, and her gleaming eyes 
sought to devour its contents. 


The Serpents in the Doves Nest. 25 


“ ‘ My dear brother and sister,’ ” she read. “ Brother 
and sister ! What does that mean ?” 

“We can probably ascertain by reading further. 
The letter is addressed to you, yet seems to have the 
air of a family communication. Perhaps he's been 
wrecked or sick. Read on.” 

“ ‘ My dear brother and sister.’ Oh, that is so strange ! 
How dare he call me sister — I, who am his betrothed 
wife ?” 

“ Give me the letter. We shall never get on at this 
rate. And the letter is written as much to me as to 
you. Let me read it.” 

Monk seized the closely written sheet, and proceeded 
to read it aloud in an impetuous voice : 

“ ‘ You must have wondered at my long absence, and 
more still at my long silence. But I have been beyond 
the reach of Her Majesty’s postal facilities. I wrote 
you from Norway, informing you of my then where- 
abouts. Leaving Norway, I visited the Shetland Isles, 
and while there, fell in with a Scottish clergyman, who 
urged me to pay a visit to the romantic island of St. 
Kilda, a mere rock in the Atlantic, a hundred miles to 
the westward of the Hebridean Island of Lewis. This 
clergyman, who had, strangely enough, known my 
father in their early manhood, gave me a letter of 
introduction to his sister and brother-in-law, Mrs. and 
the Rev. David Gwellan, the latter being pastor of St. 
Kilda. Longing for a dash of adventure, and caring 
little whither I went, I sailed for St. Kilda, arriving 
there early in August. I remained there until last 
week. As the island is inhabited by one of the most 
primitive people in the world, you will wonder what 
attraction held me there for two months. How can I 
explain without seeming to you fickle and inconstant ? 


26 


The Haunted Husband. 


But since Sylvia so generously gave me back my troth- 
plight, declaring that we were not suited to each other, 
I need not hesitate to avow the truth. The Rev. 
David Gwellan had an adopted daughter — ” 

“ Ah !” interpolated Miss Monk, in a fierce, sibilant 
whisper. “ A daughter ! And he fell in love with her ! 
Oh, Heaven ! But he shall not marry her, / swear 
it!" 

Gilbert Monk looked curiously at the low-browed, 
swarthy face, from which the glow was slowly fading, 
and then resumed : 

“An adopted daughter, about seventeen years old, a 
pure, bright, lovely girl, well educated, well bred — in 
short, a perfect lady. Sylvia was right. Our betrothal, 
entered into at the entreaty of my dying mother, and 
adhered to by her and me from a sense of duty, had 
all been wrong. Sylvia and I love each other as brother 
and sister, and while I live Sylvia shall be to me as my 
own sister, with a sister’s right in my home and a 
sister’s place in my heart. I made use of my newly- 
acquired freedom to woo this lovely island girl. I could 
not bear to come away and leave her. And so, my dear 
brother and sister — do you not guess the truth ? — Ber- 
nice and I were married at St. Kilda last Thursday, and 
my bride is with me now at Edinburgh, and I raise my 
eyes from this paper to look upon her dear face — ” 

“ Married !’’ said Miss Monk, with a stifled shriek. 
“ Married ?’’ 

“ Married !” echoed Gilbert Monk, in a sort of stupe- 
faction, looking down upon the shaking paper in his 
hands. “ He says married. I — I can’t believe it !” 

“ Married — to a baby of seventeen ! He is fooling us.” 


27 


The Serpents tn the Dove's Nest. 


She arose and tottered to the balustrade, gasping for 
air. Her dark face was livid and gray, and the look of 
agony in her fiery eyes, and the contraction of her 
beetling brows showed the awful tempest that raged in 
her soul. 

She loved Roy Lord Chetwynd with all her souJ, all the 
strength of her strong nature. All her ambitions, too, 
and they were many, were bound up in her intended 
marriage with him. And now at one fell blow, love 
and ambitions were rendered alike vain. The man for 
whom she would have given her soul was married to 
another ! 

“ I felt so sure of him !” she said in a choked voice. 
“ I was vain of my power. I never dreamed he would 
really take me at my word and leave me. Does he say 
nothing more, Gilbert? Read on.” 

“ There is but little more,” said Monk. “ He is stop- 
ping in Edinburgh to show his bride the sights, and to 
fit up her wardrobe. He is coming home within a week 
— will telegraph in advance — would like me to come to 
meet him. Here is something especially to you. He 
says you have no doubt destroyed his letters, and he 
begs you to forget all the past, and your duty betrothal 
to him. He has not told Lady Chetwynd of that en- 
gagement, out of delicacy and respect to you. Bernice 
— that’s her name — is prepared to love you, and he begs 
you to be a dear elder sister to his little girl. And, in 
conclusion, he wants us to prepare a grand reception 
for his bride’s home-coming — to ring the joy-bells, rouse 
up the tenantry, and so on. And, yes — Bernice sends her 
love. That’s all.” 

Gilbert Monk crushed the letter in his hands, utter- 
ing a series of curses so terrible as to rouse even his 
despairing sister. 

So end my hopes of a rich marriage, and so end 


28 


7 he Haunted Husband. 


yours !” he ejaculated. “ My Lady Chetwynd will send 
me adrift at an early date. But you will be allowed to 
remain, my proud Sylvia, as the poor dependent, to 
humor my lady’s whim, to dance attendance on her 
spoiled child notions, to teach her propriety and the 
customs of civilized life. An adopted daughter of an 
island pastor — a mere nobody — the child of some rude 
fisher or fowler of St. Kilda, perhaps — a nobody in truth, 
since her own parentage is not mentioned. Think of a 
chit of seventeen ruling at Chetwynd Park ! She will 
consider you venerable at twenty-two. And she has 
only to say a word to Chetwynd to set him against you. 
Curse her ! Ten thousand curses on her !” 

Sylvia Monk drooped her heavy lids over her red and ' 
glittering eyes. Her gray face looked ten years older, 
with all the color stricken from it. Her low forehead 
was shadowed with a thunder-cloud of rage and hatred. 

“ He says he has not told Bernice — is that her name ? 
— of our former betrothal,” Miss Monk said hoarsely. 

“ He keeps the secret from chivalrous regard for me. 
He does not care to have his bride know that he could 
have married me had he chosen, and that I wear the 
willow for his sake. I appreciate his delicacy. I won- 
der what Lady Chetwynd would say if she were to see 
his letters to me ? If she has a spark of woman nature 
in her childish heart, I can drive her mad with jealousy. 
Shall I suffer alone ? I will embitter her life and his, 
and he shall never suspect my agency. I will — why, 
there’s murder in my heart !” and she struck at her 
bosom with one jewelled hand, and her eyes were full 
of evil glow. “ An hour ago, and I was full of dreams 
and plans of what I would do when I should become 
Lady Chetwynd. And now I am but the poor depend- 
ent. Should Lady Chetwynd choose to drive me hence, 

I have no home — I must inevitably become a govern- 


The Serpents in the Doves Nest. 


29 


ess, or sink into some cheap obscurity on my hundred 
pounds a year. Do you think I will endure this ? I tell 
you there’s an awakened demon within me that cries 
for revenge — revenge !” and she dwelt upon the word 
in a prolonged sibilant whisper, as if it sounded sweet 
to her. 

“ Revenge ! Bah ! Will revenge give you a brilliant 
position like this your mad folly threw away ? Revenge ! 
You had better talk of retreating to a nunnery, or get a 
situation to teach in a girls’ school. You might have 
been a marchioness but you flung your chance away. 
vShall we go away from Chetwynd Park like two dis- 
charged servants before my lord and my lady come 
home ? I think it might be better to hasten our retreat 
into the obscurity to which we shall henceforth belong.” 

“ I do not. I shall stay at Chetwynd Park until I 
become its mistress. You stare. I told you that you 
do not know me. No nameless chit shall rob me of my 
love. Oh, Roy ! do you think I will tamely allow her 
to stand between me and the gaol of my love and ambi- 
tion ?” 

“ What will you do, then ?” 

A change came over Miss Monk’s face — a look so 
strange, so fierce, so deadly, so menacing, that even 
Gilbert Monk started back in affright. 

“ What I shall do remains to be seen,” she answered, 
in a serpent-like hiss. “ I shall not take you too deeply 
into my secrets, Gilbert. Old Ragee, my Hindu nurse, 
is all the friend I need. But of one thing you may rest 
assured — my plans of grandeur are not frustrated, only 
delayed. I swear to you that in fifteen months from 
this very day I shall be the second Lady Chetwynd.” 

“ But how ? I can’t understand — ” 

She interrupted him with an imperative gesture, and 


30 


The Haunted Husband. 


a look that showed her to be the more daring soul and 
the leading mind of the two. 

“ Ask me no questions, but obey me implicitly, and 
your prosperity is assured with mine. We must pre- 
pare a grand reception for our happy pair, and you 
must go to meet them at Edinburgh. You must win 
the friendship of my lady and Miss Monk sneered. 
“ Go to them, and leave all the rest to me. Make your 
arrangements at once for their reception. Give orders 
to the bailiff, the steward, the butler. I will summon 
the housekeeper to a conference. And when all is 
ready, telegraph to Lord Chetwynd and be off to Scot- 
land, leaving me in charge here. That is all, I think. 
I will leave you now, and you can impart to the house- 
hold the happy news of the marquis’s marriage.” 

She turned away and swept across the terrace swiftly, 
but still with sinuous, serpent-like rush, mounted the 
grand ascent of marble steps, and disappeared within 
the house. 

“I wouldn’t stand in Sylvia Monk’s way for a for- 
tune,” said Gilbeit Monk to himself, gazing after his 
sister, and giving an involuntary shudder. “ Sylvia 
has been so long under old Ragee’s tutelage that she 
sets no value whatever on human life, except it is her 
own. What is she going to do ? She means mischief, 
that is plain. In India, among the natives, human life 
is held as cheap as rush-light, and Sylvia has imbibed 
from her old nurse many of the peculiar ideas of old 
Ragee. Can it be — But it’s none of my concern. 
Sylvia shall manage her affairs to suit herself without 
my interference, although I shall be ready to share the 
profits. Only I would not insure the life of Bernice 
Lady Chetwynd at any risk. And now to do as I am 
told — to call together the servants and tell them that 
Lord Chetwynd is married — and not to Sylvia.” 


The Serpents in the Dove s Nest. 


3 T 


He straightened out the crumpled letter and went 
into the house. 

He called together the steward and the butler, and 
briefly told them the important news. The household 
at the Park had known of the engagement of marriage 
that had existed between the Marquis and Miss Monk, 
and had not been told that the engagement had been 
broken. The surprise, therefore, of the ruling servitors, 
on being told of the marriage of his lordship to a lady 
of whom they had never even heard, may be imagined, 
and their curious glances stung Gilbert Monk into a 
sort of sullen fury, 'which he concealed as best he might 
under an exaggeration of his usual boyish off-hand 
manner. 

He went to the house of the bailiff, and communi- 
cated to him also the news. 

He gave orders that a grand reception should be pre- 
pared for the home-coming of the marquis and mar- 
chioness, and superintended the arrangements himself. 
The next day he went up to London, and proceeded by 
an early train to Scotland, telegraphing, as we have 
seen, to Lord Chetwynd that he was on his way north- 
ward. 

“I may as well seem friendly and congratulatory, 
and all that,” he thought, as he neared his destination. 
“ Better mask one’s real feelings, especially when they 
are such as mine. I can safely leave Sylvia to avenge 
her wrongs and retrieve her lost position. By GeorgeJ 
I wish I knew exactly what she’s plotting. But one 
thing I do know : Better for Bernice Gwellan had she 
lived and died at St. Kilda ! Her marriage with Lord 
Chetwynd will prove fatal to her !” 



CHAPTER III. 

HOLLOW CONGRATULATIONS. 

About an hour after the receipt by Lord Chetwynd 
of the telegram announcing the speedy intended arrival 
of his step-brother in Edinburgh, Gilbert Monk drove 
up in a cab to the door of the Royal Hotel in that city, 
alighted, and was shown up at once to a room that had 
been ordered and prepared for him. 

His first proceeding was to remove from his person 
all the dust of travel, and to attire himself in a dress 
suit. Then he summoned a servant to conduct him to 
Lord Chetwynd’s apartments, and announced himself 
by a heavy double knock. 

It was the marquis himself who came to the door, 
giving him admittance. 

Gilbert Monk had expected to find a certain embar- 
rassment and constraint in his lordship’s manner, but he 
was disappointed. Lord Chetwynd received him with 
an honest, earnest cordiality, and evidently without the 
faintest remembrance at the moment of the broken 
engagement of marriage with Sylvia. 

“ I am glad to see you, Gilbert,” he exclaimed, 
extending his hand, his blue eyes lighting up in warmth 
of welcome. 

Monk approached the fire, with a curious glance 
about the room. The young marchioness was not 
[32] 


BERNICE GWELLAN WATCHING THE APPROACH OF LORD CHETWYND . — See Chapter 



















































































































Hollozv Congratulations . 33 


there, and he again extended his hand to Lord Chet- 
wynd, saying : 

“You have overwhelmed all your friends with sur- 
prise, my lord. Accept my congratulations. You look 
a happy benedict, and I wish you and Lady Chetwynd 
long and happy lives. Sylvia desired me to bring you 
her love, and to tell you that she is all impatience to see 
her new sister. Sylvia’s joy in your happiness is as 
great as her surprise at your marriage. She is prepared 
to adore Lady Chetwynd.” 

The marquis’s fair face flushed with pleasure. 

“ I believe that Bernice and Sylvia will be like two 
sisters,” he said. 

“ Who would have believed six months ago that you 
would be married to-day ?” remarked Gilbert Monk, 
sentimentally. “And you’ve married all for love, like 
King Cophetua when he married the beggar maid. 
Young husbands are always lovers, and in your eyes, at 
least, Lady Chetwynd is perfect. That is as it should 
be. Don’t frown at me so blackly, Chetwynd. You said 
yourself in your letter that' she is the adopted daughter 
of the minister of St. Kilda. I take it for granted, of 
course, that she is the child of some native fisherman or 
egg-hunter whom the Gwellans adopted on account of 
her beauty or intelligence.” 

Lord Chetwynd frowned and took a turn or two 
across the floor. Monk watched him with his boyish 
smile, but presently his lordship’s face cleared, and he 
came back, saying : 

“ My letter has evidently given you a false impres- 
sion, Gilbert, and I desire to rectify it before you see 
my wife. Lady Chetwynd comes of gentle blood, and 
is not a native of St. Kilda. I may as well say now to 
you, in confidence, that my dear wife was taken to St. 
Kilda in her infancy by her father in his own private 


34 


The Haunted Husband. 


yacht. Her father was a gentleman named South. He 
engaged Mrs. Gwellan to take charge of his child for a 
certain period, declaring that he would return for her, 
but he never came. He probably died.” 

“ I should think to the contrary of that. Having rid 
himself of the child, he was prepared to live. Depend 
upon it, Chetwynd, if your wife is of good family, her 
claims come under the bar sinister. She was taken to 
St. Kilda as to a living grave. I am obliged to you for 
the confidence you have reposed in me, and I shall 
guard the secret as my own, for certainly I would not 
have our censorious world know of the blot upon her 
ladyship’s escutcheon. It is well that your mantle of 
pedigree is so ample that it will cover all her short- 
comings.” 

Every word spoken so carelessly by Gilbert Monk 
was a dagger-wound to Lord Chetwynd, and so the wily 
speaker intended. 

“ It is nearly our dinner-hour, and Lady Chetwynd is 
probably ready to join us,” said the marquis, coldly. 
“ Excuse me while I go to her.” 

He bowed and withdrew into an adjoining cham- 
ber. 

Monk looked after him with a baleful smile. 

“ I have planted the first thorns among his roses,” he 
thought, with evil exultation. “ I thought he had no 
pride of birth, but I find a little tenderness on the sub- 
ject, after all. That allusion to the ‘bar sinister’ 
proved effective. How he winced under it ! It is easy 
to see that he loves the girl to madness, and — ” 

The door of the inner room opened, and Lord Chet- 
wynd re-appeared, with his young wife on his arm. 

Gilbert Monk started forward with uncontrollable 
eagerness, but no vision of beauty met his gaze. He 
beheld only a slender young girl, with a thin, dark face, 


Hollow Congratulations. 


35 


a brown, gypsy complexion, clearly-cut features, and a 
broad, low brow, .shaded by masses of crinkling black 
hair, which fell in lustrous waves touched with purple 
bloom far below her waist. His first sensation was of 
amazement that Lord Chetwynd could have given up 
Sylvia Monk for a girl like this ; but when Bernice 
approaching him and clinging gracefully to the arm of 
her young husband, upraised to him her marvellous 
eyes, all glowing like stars, he felt the spell of her won- 
derful fascination, and recognized in her a radiance of 
soul powerful enough to glorify even her plain features. 

The youthful marchioness was attired in full dinner 
costume of maize-colored silk with over-dress of white 
lace and ornaments of yellow topaz. She was not awk- 
ward nor embarrassed, but bore herself with that quiet 
self-possession and self-unconsciousness that are every- 
where recognized as the truest indices of thorough 
good-breeding. 

“ Bernice,” said the young marquis, “ allow me to 
present to you my step-brother, Gilbert Monk. Gilbert, 
this is my dear wife, Lady Chetwynd.” 

The girlish, gypsy-looking bride held out her hand 
frankly, and Monk pressed it warmly, uttering wishes 
for her happiness which seemed genuine and heartfelt. 
He exerted himself to make a favorable impression 
upon Bernice, and was successful, the island-bred girl 
being by nature as unsuspicious and generous as she 
was frank and impulsive. 

In half an hour they were apparently fast friends, 
Bernice accepting Monk as a brother, and treating him 
with a charming yet unconscious familiarity that 
delighted him. 

The three dined together in the cosy parlor, and 
spent the evening in conversation. Monk was boyish, 
whimsical, and full of drolleries, He entertained the 


The Haunted Husband. 


3 6 


young marchioness with anecdotes of her husband’s 
boyhood, and described Chetwynd Park after a graphic 
fashion, and was full of humorous sayings, seeming 
more than ever like a great overgrown boy, overflowing 
with life and spirits. 

Bernice, frank and unsuspecting as a little child, 
liked him from the first. At ten o’clock Monk with- 
drew to his own room. 

“ I’ve made a good beginning,” he said to himself, 
caressing his beard as he surveyed his reflection com- 
placently in the mirror of his dressing bureau. “ The 
girl has a strange power to charm, and I’ll stake 
my soul she’s as pure and innocent as an angel, even in 
her inmost thoughts. It is as if she had come from a 
nunnery. She knows nothing of the world, and sus- 
pects no evil. She is no match for Sylvia, and will go 
down before her like the corn before the reaper ; and 
yet there is that in her eyes and face that declares that 
she will defend herself to the death. If it were not for 
Sylvia, and the fact of my own altered position, I’d be 
inclined to make friends with Lady Chetwynd. But as 
it is, I’ll win her friendship, and use it to further my 
own interests. And one thing is sure, I cannot interfere 
with Sylvia’s plans for our mutual aggrandizement.” 

In accordance with Lord Chetwynd ’s plans, the party 
left Edinburgh the next morning for London. They 
proceeded to a quiet West End hotel, Chetwynd House 
being closed, and remained in town nearly a week, shop- 
ping, sight-seeing, and receiving calls. Monk wrote 
twice during this interval to ‘Sylvia, and received one 
dainty missive in return, which, as its writer had 
intended, he showed to Lady Chetwynd. It was, of 
course, a model letter, full of kindly expressions in 
regard to the young marchioness, and her ladyship was 
touched by it. 


Hollow Congratulations . 


37 


At length, due notice having been sent of their 
intended speedy arrival, the little party resumed its 
journey to Chetwynd Park. 

“We are almost there,” whispered the marquis, as 
his bride looked eagerly from the window of the coach. 
“ We are almost home, little wife.” 

“ Almost home !” echoed Bernice, a thrill in her 
voice, and a glint of happiness in her dusky eyes. 
“ Oh ! Roy, my life lies all before me here ! What is it 
to be ?” 

A telegraphic message to Miss Monk had announced 
the hour of the coming of the bridal party. Mr. San- 
ders, the bailiff, received a similar dispatch, and in good 
time set out in the barouche for Eastbourne, a drive of 
ten miles, followed by a spring cart which was to bring 
back Lady Chetwynd’s maid and luggage. The ser- 
vants were all in new livery of green and gold, and 
wore bridal favors on their coats 

Miss Monk watched the imposing equipage as it 
dashed down the avenue with a bitter pang of envy and 
regret. But for her own jealous anger of months ago, 
this barouche might have been proceeding to East- 
bourne to bring her back from the station upon her 
return from her bridal tour. The thought nearly mad- 
dened her, and she glided away to her own room with 
a desperate soul and a face of chalk-like pallor. 

“ I am well punished for my wild folly in breaking 
my engagement !” she muttered. “ But I could not 
believe he would take me at my word. And now I 
must make ready to receive another in the position I 
meant to occupy. Oh, this is bitterer than death !” 

Her haggard eyes, no longer half-shut, but wild and 
glittering, roved about the room. She was alone, but 
she had barely discovered the fact when the door 
opened, and her old nurse came into the room, 


The Haunted Husband. 


8 


“ Is it you, Ragee ?” inquired Miss Monk, listlessly. 
“ It is time to dress, I suppose. But how can I dress 
to meet his wife ?” and her tone grew suddenly fierce. 
“ I will not — I will not — ” 

“ Oh hush, Missy,” interrupted Ragee, soothingly. 
“ There you go into one of those fits of passion that are 
wasting your strength and killing you. You have 
scarcely slept at night since the ill news came, and you 
rage like a mad woman whenever you are alone. Are 
you going to be weak and quietly sink into the place of 
dependent — you who have the beauty of a queen, my 
darling ? Or will you rise up and be mistress of your- 
self and the fate of this low-born Lady Chetwynd ? 
Bah ! I see you have really no spirit. There is no 
obstacle between you and Lord Chetwynd that your 
own hand — or mine — cannot set aside.” 

The old woman came nearer and bent forward her 
withered, brown face, thrusting it under the drooping 
one of Miss Monk, and the Hindu’s eyes shot strange 
fire into the orbs of her mistress. 

Sylvia Monk sprang upright like a bow from which 
the strain is loosened. The red fire leaped to her eyes ; 
the red stain to her cheeks and lips. 

“You are right, Ragee,” she exclaimed. “I am 
childish to fret at an obstacle in my way which can 
easily be removed. But I will be weak no longer. 
Dress me. I must look my best. I will not appear 
haggard by the side of Chetwynd’s young bride, nor 
shall her beauty dim mine. Quickly, Ragee — my most 
becoming dress.” 

The Hindu woman smiled approval, and hastened to 
obey. She was old and thin, with a skin like ancient 
parchment, seamed with wrinkles, and of dark-brown 
hue approaching to blackness. Her small eyes were 
like polished jet beads. Her scanty hair was hidden by 


Holloiv Congratulations. 


39 


a red turban, and she wore a clinging gown of Indian 
silk, and sandals on her feet. She was a weird, witch- 
like woman, and was regarded by the servants at the 
Park with a mysterious awe and fear. As Hindu ayahs 
are not uncommon in England in the families of 
returned East Indians, her attendance upon Miss Monk, 
who had been her nursling, excited no comment, scarcely 
any surprise. 

She proceeded to dress her mistress, and when she 
had finished, exclaimed, exultantly : 

“ There ! Lord Chetwynd won’t bring a handsomer 
woman to Chetwynd Park, and hell be sick at heart of 
his fisher-girl when he sees you, missy. Why, you look 
like a queen !” 

The comparison was not inapt. Miss Monk was robed 
in a velvet of a purple shade, which admirably relieved 
the swarthiness of her complexion. Her dress was 
made with a court train, which was trimmed with ermine, 
and trailed in heavy, voluminous waves on the carpet. 
Her corsage, open at the throat, was edged with a nar- 
row band of ermine, above which rose a filmy frill of 
point lace. A fall of similar lace shaded her hands. 
Her waist was encircled by a belt of flexible gold, and 
a string of rubies adorned her neck. Her hair shaded 
heavily her serpent-like forehead, and she wore a quaint 
tiara of golden stars. The chalky whiteness of her face 
still remained unchanged, save in the cheeks, where a 
glowing red was burning ; but the fiery spark glittered 
in her dull, black eyes, and the serpent grace of her 
movements was more manifest than ever. She was 
indeed like the cobra, beautiful, sinuous, undulating — 
deadly. 

“ Hark !” she whispered, upraising her hand in an 
unconsciously theatrical gesture. “ Do you hear them ? 
The bells of Chetwynd are ringing the bridal peal. 


40 


The Haunted Husband. 


The sound is maddening. No, no ; don’t speak to me, 
Ragee. I am calm ; I shall not give way to one of my 
white rages at this moment, when I need my self-pos- 
session ; I must be ready to receive the bridal pair.” 

Miss Monk passed out into the hall, consumed with . 
envy and bitterness of spirit. She hated herself, Ber- 
nice, Chetwynd, the whole world, in that moment of 
humiliation. 

She descended to the lower hall. The joy-bells of 
the little hamlet of Chetwynd-by-the-Sea, a mile dis- 
tant, were still ringing a merry chime. The hamlet 
was owned by the marquis, and its population had 
turned out to do honor to his marriage. The villagers 
were beginning to arrive in the grounds, and the ser- 
vants were assembling in the great marble hall. The 
butler, in his dress suit, took charge of the dozen male 
servants, and Mrs. Skewer, the housekeeper, in her best 
gown and cap, with pink ribbons, headed her array of 
cooks and house-maids, comprising another dozen at 
least. 

A great hush fell upon the groups of servants as Miss 
Monk glided down the grand staircase. They all re- 
membered that she was to have been Marchioness of 
Chetwynd, and they looked at her with curious and 
pitying eyes. But she passed between the parallel 
ranks as not seeing them, and entered the drawing- 
room, closing the door behind her. 

The lodge gates were open, and presently the 
barouche came through them into the avenue and 
rolled slowly in the shadow of the trees toward the 
great house. 

As the vehicle approached the carriage porch, Miss 
Monk essayed to go out to meet the new arrivals, but 
she was suddenly strengthless. Her courage had for 
the moment deserted her. Her breath came hot and 


Hollow Congratulatio7is. 


4i 


quick ; her eyes glared ; her heart beat like the pound- 
ing of a hammer. She heard the bridal party enter the 
hall ; she heard the voice of Lord Chetwynd uttering a 
brief greeting to his household and introducing the 
Lady of Chetwynd ; she heard a faint cheer from the 
servants ; she heard footsteps approaching the drawing- 
room. 

Then she rose up, and by a supreme effort, called a 
false smile to her face and a welcoming look to her loath- 
ing eyes. 

The door opened and the marquis came in with his 
bride. Sylvia Monk swept forward, that f^lse smile on 
her lips, that false light in her eyes, and with a cry of 
ecstacy she flung herself upon Lord Chetwynd’s breast, 
exclaiming : 

“Oh, Roy, my brother, welcome home !” 

The Marquis kissed her with a brother’s fondness, 
and released her, just as Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, and 
Gilbert Monk appeared at the door. 

“ Sylvia,” said the young lord taking her by the hand, 
“ I have brought you a .sister. It will make me happy 
to have you two, who are both so dear to me, love each 
other. Bernice, this is Sylvia, whom you have so longed 
to see — my dear sister Sylvia.” 

Miss Monk drew back and surveyed her successful 
rival in one long, comprehensive gaze. 

Was it for this girl she had been forgotten ? she asked 
herself — this girl without beauty, except in her wondrous 
eyes and hair ? Was this slender unformed young 
creature mistress of Chetwynd Park ? 

Bernice looked up at her with an appealing gaze. 
The girl was dazzled by this splendid, swarthy woman, 
with her handsome face and regal attire. 

“ Won’t you love me, Sylvia ?” she asked, in a plead- 


/ 42 


The Haunted Husband. 


ing voice. I have always wished for a sister. Will you 
be mine?” 

Miss Monk replied by taking the young bride in her 
arms and kissing her. Bernice returned the caress 
with interest, and Chetwynd smiled, believing that they 
were already friends. 

“ Let me take you up to your room, Bernice,” said Miss 
Monk, when greetings had been exchanged and 
questions about the journey from London had been 
asked and answered. “ You look tired. You should 
lie down for a half-hour’s rest before dinner.” 

She drew Lady Chetwynd’s arm in hers and led her 
from the room, up stairs, to the bridal apartments. 

“ Are these my rooms ?” asked the young marchion- 
ess, in surprise and delight. “ Oh, they are lovely ! 
How happy I shall be here, Sylvia ! I may call you 
Sylvia, may I not ? And you must call me Bernice.” 

“ It's an odd name ; at least not common,” said Miss 
Monk. “ Is it a Welsh name ? I understand your papa 
is Welsh.” 

Bernice colored. 

“ I don’t know to what country my name belongs, 
but I suppose it is English,” she replied. “ I’ll tell you 
all my story some day, Sylvia. It is not a happy one 
altogether, but I have hopes and dreams of solving the 
mystery of it some time. But I am happy now, happy 
and content. You don’t know how good Roy is and 
the young wife’s lovely eyes filled with sudden tears. 
“ Oh, Sylvia, I mean to be a good wife to him. I mean 
to sympathize with all his aspirations, to become a part 
of his inner self, to be all in all to him, as he is to me. 
You shall never regret that your brother married a 
nameless little nobody. I intend Roy shall be proud 
of me.” 


Hollow Congratulations. 


43 


A spasm of pain that was not unmarked by Bernice 
passed over Sylvia’s face. 

“ We — we will talk of all this later,” said Miss Monk, 
hoarsely. “ You will want to dress now. I will send 
your maid to you. I see that you have brought one 
with you. Your luggage is in the dressing-room.” 

Excusing herself, Miss Monk hastily withdrew. 

Bernice examined her rooms, and dropped into a lux- 
urious fauteuil, as her maid, a Frenchwoman whom 
Lord Chetwynd had engaged for her in London, upon 
the recommendation of an elderly lady friend, entered 
the room. Fifine was a silly gossiping creature, whose 
professional skill was expected to atone for a great 
many faults of her tongue and brain. 

“ Ah, madame,” said Fifine, with a long breath, “ it’s 
a grand place, this Chetwynd Park. Such suits of 
rooms, such numbers of servants, such magnificence 
everywhere ! It’s a grand thing to be a rich milord. 
Shall you dress now, milady ?” 

The bride assented with a little nod. 

“ And what dress shall it be, my lady ?” asked Fifine. 

I met Miss Monk in the hall, and she sent me to you. 
Ah, she looks like a queen in her velvet and ermine. 
She is only my lord’s step-sister, and they say, down in 
the servant’s hall, that that’s no relation at all, and that 
when my lord went away in his yacht he was betrothed 
to her, and that he played her false and jilted her, all 
because of a lover’s quarrel,” continued gossiping Fin- 
fine. “ And the tall housemaid says that my lord loves 
her yet, and that this pique will cost him dear. It’s a 
tumult among the servants, my lady, and they are all 
Miss Monk’s friends. You will discharge them all, 
I suppose. Is it not so, my lady ?” 

Bernice grew pale. The foolish gossip of the thought- 
less maid stabbed her cruelly. Miss Monk’s singular 


44 


The Haunted Husband. 


beauty gained by contrast with her own plainness. 
Roy had never told her a word of his betrothal to Sylvia. 
A great spasm of jealousy convulsed her passionate 
young heart. Yet she managed to say, with a certain 
dignity : 

“ You must not come to me with servants’ gossip, Fif- 
ine. I do not care to hear what is said in the servants’ 
hall. Attend to your duties when in my presence, and 
your duty now is to dress me as soon as possible.” 

Fifine’s chattering tongue was silenced, and she pro- 
ceeded to fulfill her task. 

Bernice was soon dressed. Her attire was of bridal 
white, consisting of a heavy white silk and point-lace 
overdress, and a full set of the Chetwynd family dia- 
monds— great, liquid measures of radiant light — which 
glittered on her arms, her neck, her breast, in her ears, 
and above her streaming waves of hair. The dark, 
patrician face was still pale, but her brilliant eyes were 
more radiant and glowing than her diamonds. 

“ Now you may go, Fifine,” said Lady Chetwynd ; 
“ and — stay — send some one to Lord Chetwynd, and say 
to him that I desire to see him.” 

Fifine departed on her errand. 

“ It is not so, that Roy was ever betrothed to Miss 
Monk,” said Bernice to herself, stormily. “ He would 
have told me. I shall ask him. I will know if he mar- 
ried me in consequence of a lovers’ quarrel.” 

She awaited the coming of her young husband in 
a breathless anxiety. 



CHAPTER IV. 

INTRIGUE AND JEALOUSY. 

The minutes passed, and Lord Chetwynd did not 
appear in response to the summons of his young wife. 
A party of friends had arrived at the Park, and he was 
so engaged with them that the butler, to whom the 
chattering Fifine had transmitted her message, dared 
not interrupt him. The youthful marchioness paced 
her floor impetuously, glancing continuously and impa- 
tiently at the little Sevres clock on the low mantel. 
Her soul seemed on fire. A strange, consuming jeal- 
ousy possessed her. The thought that her husband, 
whose love was her life, had loved Miss Monk, had been 
betrothed to her, and had been bound in honor to marry 
her, was gall and wormwood to poor, proud young 
Bernice. 

But as the minutes wore on, and the marquis did not 
come, the impetuous young wife grew calmer. New 
thoughts crowded in upon her. 

“ If I have won my husband I can keep him,” she 
said to herself, proudly. “ Even if this story from the 
servants’ hall be true, I am weak and foolish to heed it. 
I must respect myself too much to even hearken to 
kitchen gossip, and indeed I did not hearken to it. I 
should be ashamed to tell Roy what I have heard — 
ashamed to question him upon such a subject. If he 

[45 J 


46 


The Haunted Husband. 


ever loved Miss Monk he is too honorable to give a 
thought to her now. I can rest upon my husband’s 
love as upon a sure support. He will not fail me.” 

The thought was like oil upon the troubled waters. 

She was herself again, bright and sweet as a sun- 
beam, when Lord Chetwynd’s tread rang through the 
hall, and the young lord entered her rooms. 

Bernice ran to meet him with a kiss. 

“ Ah, my radiant little bride !” said the young hus- 
band, with lover fondness. “ I am sorry that I could 
not come to you before, but I was detained by old 
friends. Sylvia has made a state dinner party for us, 
and the guests are already arriving. I must dress 
immediately. This is to be a grand fete in your honor, 
little wife. Sylvia has done her best to give your 
arrival Mat. And how do you like your new sister, 
Bernice ?” 

“ She is very handsome,” said Bernice, flushing, “ and 
I admire her and like her. Why, she looks like some 
Eastern queen. I — I wonder, Roy, that you did not 
marry her instead of me.” 

The marquis laughed lightly. The remark had no 
significance to him, and he did not reply to it save by a 
caress. 

“ Roy,” exclaimed the young wife, with a passionate 
thrill in her clear, sweet voice, “ you love me do you 
not, better than all the world ?” 

“ Better than all the world,” he answered, folding 
her slender, white-robed figure to him. “ You are to 
me the most beautiful woman in all the world, Bernice, 
the best, the sweetest the loveliest ! There, have I 
made you any happier, little wife ? You must never 
doubt my love. I could not bear distrust from you. 
And now I must dress. We will presently go down 
together.” 


Intrigue and Jealousy . 


47 


Bernice slid from his arms in a flutter of happiness, 
and Lord Chetwynd went to his dressing-room. 

The young wife was completely reassured. All her 
doubts and suspicions had vanished. She sang softly 
to herself as she stood at the window and watched the 
line of carriages driving up the avenue, and there was 
a proud and tender sweetness on her patrician face 
that was better far than mere beauty of form and 
coloring. 

Lord Chetwynd rejoined her in due time, in full din- 
ner dress. 

“ I almost fear that this is to be a severe ordeal for 
you, Bernice,” he said, half anxiously. “ I wish now that 
I had deferred all this publicity and dinner-giving until 
you should have become better used to English life. 
And yet I need not fear that you will fail in self-posses- 
sion and graceful ease. I have not seen my little 
island-girl embarrassed yet. I do not know whether 
you most surprise or delight me, Bernice. At your 
age, girls are scarcely out of the nursery in England, 
but you seem like one used to society.” 

“ The reason is very simple,” said Bernice, smiling. 
“ I do not think of myself, Roy. I forget that there is 
such a person as Bernice Chetwynd, and I do think of 
others and desire to please and interest them. That’s 
the whole secret of my self-possession, and it’s very 
simple, you see. But our guests are arriving. Ought 
we not to go down ?” 

The marquis assented, and offered his bride his arm, 
and they descended to the drawing-room. 

Sylvia monk and her brother were already there, 
and were engaged in receiving the guests. Both ex- 
pected the young island-girl of St. Kilda to exhibit a 
large degree of embarrassment and awkwardness, but 
both were disappointed. It is quite possible that Miss 


48 


The Haunted Husband. 


Monk had planned the dinner-party with the idea and 
hope that Bernice, by her timidity and awkwardness, 
would annoy and anger the marquis, but this hope was 
doomed to be disappointed. Bernice had a natural tact 
that stood her in place of knowledge. She had not the 
courage and address of a woman of the world, not the 
practiced knowledge of a woman of society, but she was 
quick-witted and observapt, graceful and refined and 
self-forgetful, and the last characteristic was worth per- 
haps as much as all the others together. 

In short, her first appearance in society was a suc- 
cess, and her husband was proud of her. 

The evening passed, as even the happiest evenings 
will. The guests departed one by one, or in groups. 
The tenantry went away when the fireworks ceased 
and the lanterns burned low. The revelry was over at 
last, and Lord and Lady Chetwynd, Mr. and Miss 
Monk, and Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, were alone left in 
the drawing-room. 

Mr. Sanders engaged the marquis in conversation 
upon some point of special interest to the two. Miss 
Monk, with a weary air, said good-night and retired to 
her room. Mr. Monk followed her example. Bernice 
was longing for a little confidential talk with her hus- 
band, intending to tell him of her recent spasm of 
jealousy, at which she was now ready to smile, but she 
had not yet opportunity, and reluctantly stole away to 
her own apartments. 

The marquis talked with Mr. Sanders a half-hour or 
more, and the bailiff then took his leave. 

His lordship, who remained seated before the fire, 
was on the point of arising to rejoin his young wife in 
her boudoir, when the door opened, and with a soft 
rustling of garments Sylvia Monk swept toward him. 
He turned his head, and would have arisen, but she 


SYLVIA MONK’S successful strategy.— See Chapter III , 














Intrigue and Jealousy . 


49 


glided forward with an undulating rush, and sat down 
on a hassock at his side, and laid one hand half shyly 
upon his knee, looking up at him with eyes in whose 
dull blackness was the red glimmer of an evil fire. 

“ Spare me one moment, Roy,” she said, with the 
soft, caressing manner peculiar to her — “ only one 
moment before you go to her. I want to congratulate 
you upon your marriage, and to tell you how I already 
love this little Bernice of yours. She is very lovely ; 
and not with the tame loveliness of our English girls. 
There is something gypsy-like and strange about her — 
she is so bright, so piquant, so impulsive. How you 
love her, Roy ! Can she appreciate this great love of 
your noble soul ?” 

She drooped her head almost to his knee, and her 
face was hidden from him. Lord Chetwynd replied : 

“ Bernice is a loyal heart, and she loves me, Sylvia. 
I know that she loves me.” 

“ How ?” demanded Miss Monk, with sudden un- 
restraint, looking up at him with flaming eyes and white, 
convulsed features. “ How ? With the baby love of 
seventeen — the love of a child for her dolls ! What does 
she know of woman’s passion, the love that is mad- 
ness, anguish, despair ?” 

“ My dear Sylvia, what can you know of such love ?” 

“ And you can ask me that, Roy ?” cried Miss Monk, 
wildly. “ You who were my betrothed husband — you 
in whose hand your dying mother placed mine, and 
asked God’s blessing on our union ? You can ask me 
what I know of love — you whose voice thrills me like 
heaven’s own music, whose smile stirs my soul to rap- 
ture — you whose love, O Heavens ! I flung from me 
in an idle passion, as if it had been a discarded toy ! 
You did love me, did you not, Roy? You called me 
sweet names once. I have your letters still, and in 


50 


The Haunted Husband. 


them you call me darling. I had a right to love you, 
for you were my promised husband. And now — and 
now — you are married to another. I am the poor 
dependent, outcast from your love, and — don’t speak to 
me — don’t upbraid me, Roy — I have wrecked my own 
life, and I wish I were dead !” 

She dropped her head now upon his knee, and sobbed 
in a very abandonment of despair. 

Lord Chetwynd’s fair face turned crimson. He 
glanced at the door in an agony of embarrassment. A 
pity almost divine for Sylvia Monk possessed him. He 
laid his hand on her black locks, and said softly : 

“ I never dreamed of this Sylvia. I beg you to com- 
mand yourself. You will regret this scene to-morrow. 
I cannot bear to hear you sob like this — and for me. 
Did you not mean it when you gave me back my 
promise ? But you need not answer me. Say nothing 
that may cause you pain hereafter, my poor, proud 
Sylvia. And I am so happy while you are miserable ! 
Sylvia, dear sister of Bernice and mine, look up and 
tell me that you do not mean all your words imply?” 

Miss Monk struggled with her agony, and won a 
superficial calmness, but when she upraised her face 
the marquis could see that her suffering was real and 
terrible. She tottered slowly to her feet, fancying that 
she heard a light step on the stair. She moved away 
from the marquis, and then came slowly back to him 
and seized his hand, crying : 

“Forgive me. Forget this scene. I shall hate my- 
self for it always. I did not mean to betray myself like 
this. As a token that you do not despise me, Roy, give 
me a brother’s kiss. And from this hour I will be 
a true and tender sister to you and our sweet Bernice. 
Only one brother’s kiss, Roy, and as a token that you 
do not despise me.” 


Intrigue and Jealousy . 


5i 


The ears of hate are quicker than those of love. 
Miss Monk heard a gentle rustling at the door. She 
knew that Bernice had grown impatient, and was come 
to seek her husband. And knowing this, she drooped 
her head to Chetwynd’s shoulder, and he, pitying her 
and admiring her for the sentiments last upon her lips, 
put his arm around her, and bending his face to hers, 
gave her what she had asked — a brother’s kiss. 

The door opened softly, and a little dusky head 
looked in, but was withdrawn upon the instant. Ber- 
nice had seen the embrace and kiss. She sped like a 
little mad creature along the hall, up the stairs and to 
her own room. 

She had scarcely vanished when Miss Monk, knowing 
and exulting in the work she had accomplished, with- 
drew herself from Chetwynd’s kindly clasp, and glided 
swiftly away like a serpent, going up to her own 
room. 

Lord Chetwynd, amazed and disturbed, resumed his 
seat, murmuring : 

“ Poor girl ! Poor girl ! I have unconsciously 
wronged her, perhaps, by my marriage, but I love Ber- 
nice, and I cannot regret what I have done. But Syl- 
via shall always be to me a dear sister. I will forget 
her secret. I will spare her the humiliation and Ber- 
nice the pain which both would feel were I to tell my 
tender-hearted wife. Poor Sylvia ! How nobly she 
spoke of Bernice, uttering wishes for the happiness 
that is built on her misery. While I live Sylvia shall 
be to us as our own blood, as a sister in deed and in 
truth.” 

When he had grown able to dismiss all agitation from 
his manner, he went up to his wife’s boudoir. She was 
not there, and he sought her in her dressing-room and 
bed-chamber. She was in bed, her face turned to the 


52 


The Haunted Husband. 


wall. He called to her softly, and she did not answer. 
Moving gently, not to disturb her, he also retired, and 
was soon asleep. 

Then the little head on the lace-trimmed pillow at 
his side moved restlessly, and the dusky eyes opened in 
an expression of wild despair, and Bernice whispered, 
under her breath : 

“ It’s all true, then. He married me when he loved 
her all the while. I shall not tell him that I know it. 
He shall not know that he has broken my heart. I 
shall not live long, I know ; and when I am gone he 
can marry his beautiful Sylvia.” 

The days and weeks passed. Chetwynd Park was 
usually thronged with visitors, many of them remain- 
ing for weeks. The marquis was interesting himself 
in the erection of some model cottages on his estate, 
and many cares pressed upon him after his long absence 
from home. Bernice was bright and gay, the shy, yet 
self-possessed young hostess winning golden opinions 
from her guests, and the marquis, tenderly and devot- 
edly as he loved her, did not notice that her gayety 
was feverish and unequal, that her spirits were capri- 
cious, and that she was growing paler and thinner day 
by day. But though the eyes of love were so blind, 
the eyes of hate were 'keen and observing. Sylvia 
Monk watched her young rival with bitter intensity, 
knowing well the wound she had received, and hoping 
that it would prove mortal. 

“ Perhaps she will die of her grief,” thought the 
scheming woman more than once, as she watched Ber- 
nice through half shut, sleepy-looking eyes. “ If she 
only would die of herself, it would solve the whole dif- 
ficulty and make my way clear, but she will not. I can 
see that I will be driven to desperate measures.” 

One day in late November, Lord Chetwynd accident- 


Intrigue a?id Jealousy. 


53 


ally met Miss Monk out upon the cliffs overhanging the 
sea. The day was wild and dreary, with a premonition 
of coming winter. The air was keen, chill and pene- 
trating ; the sky of dun gray ; the sun hidden behind 
clouds ; the sea ruffled with white caps that sped over 
the water like frightened gulls. Miss Monk, clothed in 
heavy russet silk, and wrapped in the clinging folds of 
an Indian cashmere shawl, shivered, and muttered 
some fierce anathema against the horrible English win- 
ters. His lordship gave little heed to her remark, but, 
with an air of anxiety, said : 

“ I do not think Bernice is looking well, Sylvia. Don’t 
you notice how thin and pale she is of late ?” 

“ I have noticed it. It is the natural result of her 
change of mode of life. She has been used to an abso- 
lute freedom at St. Kilda — to rambles on the rocks, and 
rows upon the sea, whenever the mood was upon her — 
but here she finds herself hampered with forms and 
ceremonies — she must dress, must pay visits, must 
entertain curious strangers — and no doubt she finds 
the change from freedom to restraint often unbearable.” 

“ I have thought of all this,” said the marquis. “ But 
Bernice has settled into her new mode of life almost as 
if resuming old habits and customs. It is a miracle 
that one so brought up as she has been on a lonely 
island in the Atlantic can be so graceful, so unconscious 
of self, so thoroughly well-bred. I am very proud of 
her, Sylvia. My relatives could scarcely conceal their 
surprise at her graceful ease and charming manners. 
There is an old saying that ‘ blood will tell,’ Sylvia, and 
I am persuaded that Bernice comes of a race of refined 
and cultured men and women.” 

“ But she does not come of a long-lived race, I am 
persuaded, Roy,” said Miss Monk, averting her face. 
“ There is a look about Bernice that makes me think 


54 


The Haimted Husband . 


her doomed to an early death. Have you not noticed 
how willful and capricious she is of late, how restless 
and uneasy, how she starts at a footstep, and how pale 
she grows at the sound of a voice ?” 

The marquis started, growing pale. 

“ No, I have not noticed all this, Sylvia," he exclaimed. 
“Can you be right? Have I been absorbed in my 
guests, my tenantry, and my improvements, so that 1 
have failed to see these signs of decay so perceptible to 
you ? Perhaps my darling is homesick. Perhaps all 
these ‘forms and ceremonies * are distasteful to her. I 
thank you for your timely warning, Sylvia, and I will 
profit by it." 

“ I wish Gilbert were here," said Sylvia. “ He has 
been up to London now for a month. What is he 
doing there, do you know, Roy ?" 

“ No, I do not. Dalhoun of Eastbourne told me to- 
day, when I was at the station, that he saw Gilbert yes- 
terday in town, and that Gilbert was hard at work at 
the law. I fancy he is studying for the bar, Sylvia." 

Miss Monk shook her head incredulously. 

“ He has got some new idea in his head, I know," she 
remarked. “ His letters are very brief and far between. 
It is just possible that he may be studying for the bar, 
but I hardly think it. Work and Gilbert do not agree. 
You know his favorite idea is to marry a rich wife, and 
I have the impression that his present movements have 
some bearing toward that end." 

The marquis did not reply. His thoughts were bent 
upon his wife. His anxieties in regard to her were 
fully aroused. He consulted with Sylvia in regard to 
her as they walked to the house. Miss Monk was reas- 
suring, yet she managed to deepen his sense of dread 
and anxiety, and he declared his intention of sending to 
town for a physician. 


Intrigue and Jealousy . 


55 


On entering the mansion it was found that a party of 
visitors had arrived from Eastbourne, and while Lord 
and Lady Chetwynd went into the drawing-room Miss 
Monk glided up to her own apartments, which were 
opposite those of Lady Chetwynd. 

On entering her boudoir Miss Monk uttered an ex- 
clamation of amazement. The room had an occupant 
— her brother, Gilbert Monk. He was lazily reclining 
in a fauteuil, but arose at her entrance with an exagger- 
ated courtesy and an affectation of boyish exuberance. 

4 ‘ You here, Gilbert ?” said Miss Monk, flinging her 
hat and shawl upon the nearest chair. “ Why, I sup- 
posed you were studying law in London. When did 
you arrive ?” 

“ While you were on the cliffs. I saw you as you 
canje up to the house. How changed Lady Chetwynd 
is ! What have you been doing to her ?” 

“ Nothing,” said Sylvia, defiantly. “ She is jealous, 
that’s all. She has found out that Roy and I were 
engaged, and she’s worrying over it. She’s only a 
child, Gilbert, and she’s grieving herself to death.” 

“ And you have done nothing to her ?” 

“ Nothing. What have you been doing in London ?” 

“ I have been making researches,” said Gilbert Monk, 
with an air of reticence. “ I have made a startling 
discovery, which is sure to affect my whole future. If 
I can do what I am now planning, I shall be a rich 
man, Sylvia.” 

“ Does your discovery affect Bernice ? It can’t be 
that you have been searching out and have obtained a 
clue to her parentage ?” cried Miss Monk, excitedly. 

Gilbert's face flushed. He looked uneasy, and ex- 
claimed with singular haste : 

“ How could I discover any clue to Lady Chetwynd’s 
parentage ? Do you take me for a wizard, or for one of 


56 


The Haunted Husband. 


those detectives of romance who always discover imme- 
diately whatever they are told to search out ? Non- 
sense. Lady Chetwynd’s parentage is a dead secret, 
and will remain so. I fancy you have a haggard look, 
Sylvia. When are you going to end all this suspense 
and misery ?” 

“ Now — this very night,” cried Miss Monk, with sud- 
den vehemence, and with a serpent-like hiss. “ I have 
been driven to action at last by seeing Roy’s doting 
fondness for that girl. He is anxious about her, and 
fears she will die. It is torture to me to hear him 
express his anxieties, and to see him hang about her 
with sickening yearning in his eyes and face. I have 
borne all that I can bear. I shall remove the obstacle 
from my path gradually, not to excite suspicion, but 
the first step shall be taken to-night.” 

She set her lips together with fierce compression. 

Gilbert Monk was not startled, nor did he betray any 
emotion. 

“ I suppose you will want to talk the matter over 
with old Ragee,” he observed. “ I will leave you to 
discuss your plans with her, while I pay my respects to 
my lady. I’ll see you at dinner.” 

He hastened to take his leave. As he closed the 
door behind him, he heard his sister summon old 
Ragee. With a strange smile on his boyish visage, he 
hurried along the hall to the door of his sister’s bed- 
chamber, glanced around him, making sure he was 
unobserved, and then softly turned the knob. The 
door was locked. 

Nothing daunted by so slight an obstacle he drew 
from his pocket a slender wire and turned the key in 
the lock, shooting back the bolt almost noiselessly. 
Then he opened the door and stole in. 

As he expected, old Ragee had joined her mistress in 


Intrigue and Jealousy . 


57 


the boudoir, and the intervening doors were but slightly 
ajar. He locked the door by which he had entered and 
crept stealthily into the dressing-room, the sound of his 
footsteps being muffled by the thick velvet pile on the 
floor. He crept across the room to one of the windows 
and hid himself in the thick folds of scarlet velvet laden 
with golden embroidery. 

He had scarcely settled himself in an easy position 
and had time to mark the closed Indian cabinet of his 
sister, the open dressing-case, the scent boxes, the fire, 
and all the appurtenances of luxury, when the subdued 
sound of the voices of Miss Monk and old Ragee in con- 
versation came in snatches to his eager hearing. 

“ Good !” he said to himself. “ I can hear what they 
say by close listening. I haven’t spent my month up at 
London for nothing. I have made a discovery which 
Lord Chetwynd, the marchioness and Sylvia would give 
all they have to know. And, as a consequence of that 
discovery, I have a stake in this business that no one 
dreams of. I shall make my fortune out of Bernice 
Chetwynd before I am though with her. But I must be 
as secret as death, as artful as Satan, as watchful as 
Argus. What’s that they’re saying ? Ah, they are 
coming in here !” 

He shrank back further within the folds of the cur- 
tains, holding his breath, as Miss Monk came swiftly, 
with sinuous rush, into her dressing-room, followed by 
her Indian nurse. 



CHAPTER V. 

A NUMBER OF DARK SECRETS. 

The hidden presence of Gilbert Monk in the dress- 
ing-room of his sister was not suspected by Miss Monk 
or old Ragee. The Indian nurse bent a quick glance 
about the spacious chamber, more from habit than sus- 
picion, and then drew a luxurious lounging-chair up to 
the fire, and her young mistress sank into it wearily, her 
swarthy face whitened to an ashen pallor, her usually 
half -shut eyes nearly closed, and her breath coming 
heavily between her parted lips. 

“ See that the doors are all locked,” said Sylvia Monk, 
with closed eyes, speaking in a hissing whisper which 
penetrated even to her brother’s ears. “ I have some- 
thing to say to you, Ragee, which must be said in utter 
secrecy. It would be ruin — death— to us to be over- 
heard.” 

Old Ragee nodded in silence and examined the various 
doors opening into the hall from the boudoir, dressing- 
room and bed-chamber. Having made sure that all 
were secure she glanced through the rooms, and then 
returned to her mistress. 

“ Sit down,” said Sylvia Monk, not opening her eyes. 
“ You are sure we are alone — that no one is peeping or 
listening at the doors ?” 


[ 58 ] 


A Number of Dark Secrets. 


59 


‘‘Quite sure,” said old Ragee, sinking down into 
a picturesque heap upon the floor before the fire, and 
basking in the heat like a cat. “ We are alone, missy. 
You can talk freely.” 

Still Miss Monk hesitated. The words she meditated 
were not to be lightly spoken. Ragee betrayed no 
impatience for her confidence, but waited meekly, well 
knowing what was to come. 

Presently Sylvia gathered courage and spoke again in 
a low voice and in the Hindostanee tongue. Gilbert 
Monk understood the language as well as he understood 
English, and bent forward in uncontrollable eagerness 
to catch her words. 

“ Ragee,” said her mistress, “ I have borne it as long 
as I can. Every day my soul is torn by the sight of his 
fondness for her. Every day I am obliged to behold 
his caresses of her, or hear his tender praises of her, or 
know that he adores her. I can bear it no longer.” 

“ No, missy,” assented the Hindoo, with an imperturb- 
able countenance. 

“ I have heard,” said Miss Monk, “ that your brothers 
are Thugs, and that you in your youth belonged to one 
of the five orders of that great sect, that you were a sotha, 
or entrapper — that you lured men to their destruction 
at the hands of the stranglers. I know that you care as lit- 
tle for human life as brute existence. Now I want you 
to help me.” 

“ Yes, missy. You shall see what Ragee can do.” 

She gathered herself up from the floor, produced her 
bunch of keys, and unlocked the Indian cabinet. 

Gilbert Monk held the heavy curtain together with 
his hands, and peered out between the folds, holding 
his breath, and remaining fixed and motionless as a 
statue. 

The Hindoo woman groped in the interior of the cab- 


6o 


The Haunted Husband. 


inet, and touched a hidden spring somewhere at the 
back. Monk heard a drawer shoot out from its con- 
cealment, and Ragee then brought forth a tiny box 
that glittered in the firelight like a jewel. 

Ragee resumed her place upon the hearth-rug, turn- 
ing the box over in her brown and skinny hands. 

It was some four inches square, and made of wrought 
gold, exquisitely chased in an East Indian pattern, and 
in each corner of the lid a burning ruby was set like a 
tiny eye of fire. In the centre of the lid were engraved 
a few words in the Hindostanee tongue, signifying 
“ The goddess Kali grants their hearts’ desire to her 
worshipers. Revenge is worship !” 

Ragee opened her dress and pulled forth from its 
concealment a long golden chain, to which was attached 
a tiny golden key. She applied this key to the box and 
lifted the jewelled lid. 

The firelight flooding the hearth-rug, and the faces 
and figures of the two conspiring women, fell also upon 
the box, and Monk caught a glimpse of its contents. 

They consisted of three tiny vials of clear, colorless 
liquid like water ; of three tiny packets of powder 
inclosed in thin oil silk ; and of three vials of infinitesi- 
mal globules which resembled bubbles of air seen upon 
troubled waters. 

These latter vials the Hindoo woman took out and 
carefully examined. The glass stoppers were tied down 
with a bit of oiled silk or bladder. 

“ One of these globules will dissolve instantly in any 
liquid,” said the Hindoo woman, handling the vials 
tenderly. “They are colorless, you see, and are so 
small that one alone can hardly be seen. They are 
swift in their action, and leave no trace. They are dis- 
tilled from deadly plants that grow in the depths of the 
shaded jungle. This one is labeled ‘ heart disease.’ 


A Number of Dark Secrets . 


61 


One who takes one of these airy globules in this vial 
will die suddenly, as by heart disease.” 

“ That will not do,” said Miss Monk, shivering, in 
spite of her evil self-command, at the cold and passion- 
less tone of her Hindoo attendant. “ The girl is young 
and strong ; she is not likely to have heart disease.” 

Old Ragee put down the vial, and took up another. 

“ The globules are the best in this case,” she 
observed, “ and I need not explain the properties of the 
powders and liquids. This vial is labeled ‘ fever.’ One 
taking a single globule of this in liquid is seized with a 
heavy chill, followed by fever, which runs a course of a 
week. The ordinary remedies for fever but stimulate 
the action of this poison, and the patient, after days of 
delirium, dies. The effect is natural. The most sus- 
picious person in the world could not suspect the use of 
this poison. It has no smell, no taste, and it leaves no 
trace. It is a concentrated and deodorized malaria, as 
one might say. The girl is pale of late, and drooping. 
What wonder that she should have fever?” 

“ I like that,” said Miss Monk, slowly. “We will use 
it. Stay. What is in the third vial ?” 

The Hindoo replaced the second vial before taking 
out the third. The precaution was necessary, for all 
the vials were precisely alike, and the labels upon the 
second and third vials were identical. 

“ This third vial is also labeled ‘ fever,’ ” said old 
Ragee. “ It needs another word to distinguish it from the 
second vial, for its properties are widely different, 
although its mode of action is the same. One who has 
taken it apparently dies of fever after a few days’ 
delirium and sickness ; but he does not die. He falls 
into a trance, as I might call it, which is the twin sister 
of death. The body becomes cold and cadaverous, the 
nose becomes pinched, the eyes sunken. The sem- 


62 


The Haunted Husband. 


blance of death is marvelously real. Life is held in 
abeyance for three days, and then the mind and body 
rouse from their long torpor, but for weeks afterward a 
great weakness is upon the patient, and exertion, 
thought even is difficult. If it is desired to defer the 
awakening to six days, it can be easily done. A second 
globule can be dropped in a tumbler of water, and a 
teaspoonful of the liquid can be forced between the 
seemingly dead person’s lips. But you will not want this 
preparation. Take a globule from the second vial.” 

“But how am I to carry it ? How am I to use it ?” 
asked Miss Monk. 

“ You will have many opportunities, missy. Drop it 
in Lady Chetwynd’s chocolate at lunch, or into her cof- 
fee in the drawing-room when you two are alone. 
Lord Chetwynd has guests to dine, gentlemen from 
Eastbourne. He will remain with them and Mr. Monk 
in the dining-room after you ladies leave the table. 
You can be alone with Lady Chetwynd in the drawing- 
room when the coffee is brought in. Can you not man- 
age an affair so simple ?” 

“ Yes, yes. But you have not told me how I am to 
carry the single globule.” 

“ I will get you a very small empty vial which I have 
in my room, ” said Ragee. “ But first, I will take out 
the globule. I do not like to leave my box of secrets 
open.” 

She produced a slender pen-knife and deftly removed 
the silk cap of the vial number two, and took from it a 
single globule, tiny and transparent as an air bubble. 
She laid this globule upon a small table near at hand, 
replaced and re-enveloped the stopper, and restored the 
vial to its place. 

“ I notice that the cap on number three is loose, ” she 
said, taking up the third vial. 


A ^Number of Dark Secrets. 


63 


“ But the drug retains its full strength so long as the 
little crystals remain unbroken. The silk seems to 
have rubbed against the partition of the box, and is 
broken. I must replace it with a fresh cap. I will 
leave the box in your care, Missy, while I go for the 
silk and the vial.” 

She placed the jewelled box on Miss Monk’s knee, 
and went away through the bed-chamber to her own 
room, which communicated with that of her mistress by 
a narrow private passage leading out of a trunk-room 
beyond the bath-room. 

Miss Monk idly examined the terrible and deadly con- 
tents of the box. 

“What power lies in these simple globes of glass !” 
she muttered, fingering the vials. 

“ Ragee is a queen, and these are her soldiers who 
fight for her and make her path clear. I have heard 
that she has been suspected of using these things, but 
no one ever dared accuse her of doing so. Ah ! what 
is that ?” 

She started, and the vial dropped from her fingers to 
its cushioned socket, as a knock sounded on the door of 
her boudoir. She hesitated, with a glance in the direc- 
tion in which her attendant had gone, but Ragee had 
barely reached her chamber. The knock was repeated, 
and Miss Monk recognized it as the knock of young 
Lady Chetwynd. 

“I must go to her, I suppose,” she said half aloud. 
“ What can she want of me ? Oh, she has come for that 
last piece of Claribel’s music which I offered her at 
luncheon. She won’t detain me a minute.” 

She arose, deposited the box on the table beside the 
single deadly capsule laid out for her use, flung a news- 
paper over it, and went into her boudoir, closing the 
door carefully behind her. 


64 


The Haunted Husband? 


Then Gilbert Monk stirred in his concealment, putting 
out his head and listening. There was an evil glow on 
his boyish-looking face, a sinister gleam in his black 
eyes. 

“ The devil must be helping me, I think,” he whispered. 
“ I see my way clear. My whole course has been 
marked out by these woman for me. One bold step — 
I have time, I think — and my fortune is made !” 

He crept like a shadow from the folds of the curtains 
and crossed the floor upon his toes. He reached the 
table — he paused — listened. 

He heard his sister’s voice in the boudoir, in conver- 
sation with the youthful marchioness whom she was plot- 
ting to destroy. He heard no sound of Ragee’s return. 
He lifted the rustling paper, breathing a half- suppressed 
curse. Again he listened. He took up the “ vial 
number three,” to which the torn silken cap still clung. 
He pulled out the tiny stepper, and rolled two capsules 
out upon his hand. Then replaced the vial as he had 
found it, and again he paused to listen. 

His heart was beating like a drum. The fortune he 
was scheming to win was at stake at that moment. A 
great noise was in his ears. He could not hear Miss 
Monk speaking to Bernice, yet the air seemed all alive. 
He caught up the globule from “ vial number two,” 
which Sylvia had chosen, and replaced it with one he 
had taken from “ vial number three.” Then, with the 
two globules he had secured, he fled guiltily back to his 
concealment. 

And not too soon. The curtains were yet waving 
under his touch when Miss Monk returned to her dress- 
ing-room and resumed her seat, taking the box again in 
her hands. 

And in another moment old Ragee also appeared, 
entering as swiftly and noiselessly as a shadow. 








7/ 

02 


' ) 

v. 

>fU 


A Number of Dark Secrets. 


65 


“ I barely escaped detection,” thought Monk, his heart- 
beats growing calmer. “ But who could have foreseen 
that I would experience such a glorious success ? My 

T ay is clear !” and an exultant thrill went through his 

jul. 

The Hindoo woman sat down again on the hearth-rug 
and arranged her vials, without seeing that one had 
been opened in her absence. This done, she carefully 
restored the box to its secret hiding-place in the cabinet, 
and secured the latter. Then she took up the single 
capsule which Monk had exchanged for the one Sylvia 
had chosen, and dropped it into a tiny vial, which she 
had brought from her room for the purpose. 

“ You can uncork this vial in your pocket, Missy,” she 
said, delivering the deadly agent, “ and you will find 
chances to use it without being seen.” 

“ I shall use it before the day is over,” said Miss Monk 
in her soft, hissing voice. “ In a fortnight or less, Lady 
Chetwynd will repose in the family tomb in Chetwynd 
church. And now I am tired. I will lie down for an 
hour before I begin to dress for dinner, Ragee, and you 
must sit by me as usual while I sleep. I am afraid to 
be alone.” 

The two adjourned to the bed-chamber, leaving the 
door of communication ajar. 

Gilbert Monk remained a long time in his conceal- 
ment not daring to attempt his escape. He emptied 
his small silver match-safe, and dropped into it the two 
capsules he had stolen, and put it in his pocket. He sat 
down on the window-ledge and looked down into the 
park. The fear of discovery was strong upon him, and 
he listened intently to every sound. 

At last the regular breathing of Miss Monk announced 
.hat she slept. The silence of old Ragee seemed to 
indicate that she was also nodding. With sudden and 


66 


The Haunted Husband. 


desperate boldness Gilbert Monk stole from the protec- 
tion of the heavy curtain and crept across the dressing- 
room and into the boudoir. He had not been heard. 
He hurried softly to the door, unlocked it, and slipped 
into the hall. 

There was no one to be seen. Lady Chetwynd’s doors 
were shut. Monk waited only long enough to turn the 
key of the boudoir door in the lock with the wire he had 
before used, and then crept stealthily to his own room. 

And then, and not till then, did he breathe freely. 

He flung himself on a couch in aglow of evil triumph, 
muttering : 

“ I’ll keep the capsules for my own possible wants. 
Their possession is a power on which I can call in case 
of need. Sylvia will administer that globule to Ber- 
nice to-day. But Bernice will die only in seeming. 
They shall all believe her dead, even Chetwynd, and I 
alone shall know the secret that she lives. Ah ! my 
month in London was well spent. The discovery I 
made there will prove my fortune, if I go on as well as 
I have begun. But I have work to do. I’ll borrow 
money of Chetwynd after dinner, and go back to Lon- 
don to-night. I have a heavy task before me in the next 
week. Ah ! what would Sylvia say if she could know 
the trick I have played her in exchanging the globules ? 
It is plot and counter-plot, only that my plans will not 
interfere with hers. She shall win Chetwynd, if she 
can — while I win fortune !” 

Miss Monk appeared in the drawing-room half-an- 
hour before dinner, as cool and self-possessed as if no 
thought of evil had ever entered her mind — as if even 
then she were not meditating the basest act of 
treachery, the deadliest crime known to humanity. 
She was dressed with unusual care in a robe which was 
a marvel of beauty. Its color was that of a pale tinted 


A Number of Dark Secrets 


67 


lemon, and contrasted well with her swarthy complex* 
ion, her cheeks and lips of glowing carnation, the dun 
blackness of her hair, and the deep, dull gloom of her 
sleepy Indian eyes. An overskirt of black lace gave 
effect and expression to her attire. She wore her favo- 
rite jewels of yellow topaz, and a necklace composed of 
a dozen graduated strings of them lay like a gleaming 
collar on her bare brown neck, and strings of them 
clasped her dusky, massive arms. 

The dull November day had closed long since, and 
the lights were glowing softly in the tinted globes of 
the gasalier, flooding the room with a mellow radiance. 
The fires in the grates all burned brightly, with lambent 
flames, and their red lances of light fell upon the carpet, 
the furniture and the walls. The curtains of satin and 
lace were dropped, their folds sweeping the floor. 

Miss Monk sent a sweeping glance around her as she 
approached the fire. The grand long room seemed 
untenanted, but her keen gaze espied in the deep recess 
of a distant window-seat the gleam of wine-hued and 
silken drapery, which she knew belonged to Bernice. 
She turned from her course and approached the window- 
seat with a swift, undulating grace, and drawing aside 
the curtains, looked down upon the little figure that 
crouched on the wide window-ledge. 

Bernice looked up at her with a half-tortured, half- 
defiant expression upon a face full of infinite woe and 
gathering despair. There was a stormy look in the wide 
brilliant eyes, and the broad, low brow, under masses 
of blue-black hair, was contracted as in deep mental pain. 

“ Not moping, Bernice ?” said Miss Monk, with a caress- 
ing gayety. “ There is a world of sadness in your eyes 
and face. Are you fretting for the good foster-parents 
of St. Kilda, for the grim island rocks, the rude fishers 
and fowlers, the wild life, the freedom from cares and 


68 


The Haunted Husband. 


ceremonies? You look as if you were longing to go 
back to your old home.” 

“ Oh, I wish I had never left it !” cried Bernice, with a 
passionate outbreak of her despair. “ It was my home, 
and I had a right there. But here I feel like a usurper, 
and I cannot conquer the feeling. Do I not know how 
people regard me ? They smile upon me, they pay 
court to me because I am Marchioness of Chetwynd, but 
what do they really think of me ? Why, I heard Roy’s 
aunt, who was here last week, upbraid him for his 
mesalliance, and tell him that I was the first of humble 
blood who ever married a Chetwynd. He was haughty 
in his answer, it is true, but he likes his aunt, and her 
words are likely to rankle. And his cousin asked him 
who I really am, and he could not tell her. Think what 
it must be for a proud English nobleman not to be able 
to tell from what sort of people his wife sprung ? And 
the other day, as I entered the conservatory, I heard 
Captain Allyn ask Miss Graham of Eastbourne if Lord 
Chetwynd had not ‘ been mad when he married his not 
pretty beggar-maid ?’ The truth is, Sylvia, the county 
people and all Roy’s relatives consider that I have 
committed an unpardonable presumption in marrying a 
marquis.” 

“ Bernice,” said Miss Monk, in a low voice, “ you 
think you have all to bear. Let me undeceive you. 
There are other sad hearts under this roof than yours. 
Roy himself has troubles to which yours are the merest 
trifles. No, I do not mean that Roy has sorrows ; if he 
has it is not for me to speak of them. What should he 
have to trouble him ? But my life, Bernice, is dark and 
drear. A year ago I was the happiest of women. I 
was betrothed to one I loved, and he loved me with the 
first love of his .life, that grand, overmastering passion 
which never, never dies. It’s a sad story, Bernice. J 


A Numb e7" of Dark Secrets. 


69 


only tell it you that you may see how small your griefs 
are beside mine. He loved me — he loves me yet ! Such 
love as his cannot die ! But I was proud and willful, and 
we quarrelled. He was goaded to recklessness — he went 
away — he — But I have said enough. In his pride and 
anger and mad recklessness he placed a barrier be- 
tween him and me that neither he nor I can pass. But 
I know he loves me yet. He will never be my husband 
in this life, Bernice, and in the Beyond there is no mar- 
riage. By one rash act, bitterly regretted by him and 
me, he has divided us to all eternity. Have I not much 
to bear, Bernice ? Can your childish griefs compare 
with mine ! My story is new to you , you have never 
suspected it, I know. I should never have told it to 
you but to teach you that one may live on in patience 
when one’s heart is broken.” 

Bernice pressed her small face against the cold win- 
dow pane, but her slight figure was motionless. Miss 
Monk knew, however, that false and artfully-told story 
had done its work. 

“ Do you suppose he loves you still ?” asked Bernice, 
presently, in a hoarse, strained voice. 

“ Yes,” said Miss Monk, hesitatingly. “ I do not 
mind confessing to you, Bernice, since you do not know 
my lover, nor can ever know him, that he loves me 
still with more than the old love. He— has told me so 
of late— this very day — ” 

She paused and covered her face with her hand. 

Bernice still looking from the window, uttered a 
choking sob. Her life had been so hermit-like at St. 
Kilda that she had known nothing of baseness, treachery 
or the worst forms of wickedness. She would as soon 
have suspected Miss Monk of murder as of lying, and 
thus she received her false assertions as solemn truth. 


70 


The Haunted Husband. 


She believed that Lord Chetwynd must have spoken 
words of regret and remorse that day to Miss Monk. 

“ It has all been a cruel mistake, Sylvia,” she said, 
brokenly, her passionate young voice quivering. “ I 
am not the child you think me. I seem suddenly to 
have had my womanhood forced upon me. You are a 
woman, and so would pity me if you knew, if you 
could guess — Oh, Sylvia, I am so sorry for you, for 
Roy, for us all. But it’s too late now.” 

“ Bear up, as I do, Bernice. Hark ! Some one is 
coming. What will Roy say to see you like this ? You 
must keep up appearances, even though your heart 
break, Bernice. That is the lesson I have had to learn. 
Force a smile, dear, and put on the miens of a happy 
and beloved wife, or our guests will say that Roy is not 
good to you.” 

Miss Monk forced a laugh and Bernice echoed it 
hollowly. Footsteps were heard in the hall, and when 
Lord Chetwynd entered, in company with a young life- 
guardsman, one of his guests, the youthful Lady Chet- 
wynd emerged from the window recess, and came for- 
ward to greet the young officer with a pale, proud face, 
and gentle, courteous manner, without a vestige of 
her recent agitation and her smouldering despair. 

The remaining guests, including Gilbert Monk, pres- 
ently sauntered in, and soon after dinner was announced. 

Bernice bore her part at the banquet with more than 
usual silence, but with graceful ease and self-possession. 
Miss Monk noticed that the young hostess ate nothing, 
making only the faintest pretense of trifling with her 
food. She noticed, also, that under the gentle courtesy 
of Bernice there was a suppressed excitement, a tumult 
of feeling, which tasked the girl’s entire powers of self- 
gontrol, 


A Number of Dark Secrets. 


7 * 


The ladies retired from the dinner- table after the 
dessert, leaving the gentlemen over their wine. 

Bernice would have returned to her window-seat and 
a sort of half solitude in the shadow of the curtains, 
but Miss Monk gently forced her to a seat by the hearth, 
saying : 

“You ate no dinner, Bernice. How long can you 
keep up without food ? You will surely create a scene 
before the evening is over if you do not brace up your 
nerves. And think of Roy’s horror and mortification if 
you should create a scene ! You must take at least a 
cup of coffee before the gentlemen come.” 

Without awaiting a response she touched the bell and 
gave her order to the footman. 

Presently he re-appeared, bearing a silver tray on 
which was a tiny tete-a-tete coffee service, consisting of a 
miniature coffee-pot, cream-jug, sugar-bowl, etc., in 
exquisitely chased silver. There were daint)^ cups of 
Sevres china painted with flowers, and small gold spoons 
of rare workmanship. He deposited the tray upon a 
table and withdrew. 

Miss Monk glided to the table, one hand in her pocket, 
her fingers pulling nervously at the cork of the vial 
therein. Extracting the cork readily, it being but 
loosely put in, she dropped the poisonous globule into 
her hand. Then her dark hands fluttered over the cups 
and dropped the transparent capsule unseen and unsus- 
pected into one of the tiny cups. 

Bernice was bending over the fire, her face averted. 
Miss Monk smiled with complacent satisfaction, and 
daintily filled the poisoned cup with sugar, cream and 
coffee, and brought it to Bernice with a Judas smile and 
tenderness. 

“ The coffee is strong, dear,” she said. “ Drink. It 
will do you good. No, you shall not refuse it,’ she 


72 


The Haunted Mils band. 


added, playfully, yet with hidden anxiety. “ Strong 
coffee is a tonic for the nerves, Bernice. You must 
drink it.” 

The young marchioness yielded, and drank to the 
dregs the poisoned cup that was held to her lips. 

Miss Monk waited in dead silence until the empty cup 
was given back to her. Then she went to the table 
and silently poured for herself a portion of coffee and 
drank it eagerly. Then she walked to the window, her 
pulses throbbing, her brain almost reeling, her soul in a 
tumult of wicked triumph. 

“ It is done !” she said to herself, with a backward 
glance over her shoulder. “ She has taken the drug. 
She is surely doomed. She will complain of illness 
within an hour. She will die within the week.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE PUPPETS OF MR. MONK. 

While Sylvia Monk was so successfully carrying on 
her diabolical plot against the youthful marchioness, the 
Marquis of Chetwynd and his guests had passed through 
that charmed half-hour after dinner so loved by English 
gentlemen, when, “ across the walnuts and the wine,” 
anecdotes and reminiscences are exchanged, and many a 
brilliant thought finds utterance, and many a scrap of 
philosophy or flash of wit is cooked. Lord Chetwynd 
was secretly anxious about his young wife, and he was 
not sorry at last to give the signal for the return to the 
drawing-room. 

His lordship brought up the rear as he returned with 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk. 


73 


his guests to the presence of the ladies. Gilbert Monk 
fell behind also, and whispered to Chetwynd hurriedly : 

“ Can you grant me a moment’s interview in the 
library, my lord ? Only a moment’s. I promise that 
your absence shall hardly be noticed — it will be so 
brief.” 

Gilbert wanted to borrow some money which he 
obtained, and said, as he bestowed it in his pocket-book : 

“ I have barely time to reach Eastbourne to catch my 
train. Make my adieus to Lady Chetwynd and your 
guests, my lord, if you please. I shall probably return, 
like a bad penny, within a week, and shall be glad then 
to receive your counsels in regard to my future, and 
shall be able to give you my views upon the law as a 
profession for me. Good-night, my lord. Ten thousand 
thanks for your generous kindness.” 

The two men shook hands and separated. Lord 
Chetwynd going to the drawing-room, and Gilbert 
Monk hurrying up stairs to his own room. He hastily 
changed his dinner dress for his ordinary street cos- 
tume, threw on his great-coat, and dashed down stairs 
again and out into the carriage porch. 

His carriage was in waiting. He entered it, and was ) 
driven rapidly away from the house and down the 
broad shaded avenue. As he passed out at the lodge 
gates he put his head out of the carriage window and 
looked back at the great house, which glowed like a 
gigantic lantern, and his swarthy face gleamed with a 
sinister light, and he muttered : 

“ I am the only person in the whole world who knows 
who Bernice Lady Chetwynd is. And I mean to make 
my knowledge secure my fortune. Sylvia pursues her 
games regardless of me ; Chetwynd is wrapped up in 
his young wife ; each has his or her own ^schemes or 
projects, while I am like the showman who, concealed 


74 


The Haunted Husband. 


behind the curtain, pulls the strings attached to his pup- 
pets, making them perform to his satisfaction. And so, 
unconsciously to themselves, the inmates of Chetwynd 
Park are my puppets, and move at my bidding. They 
shall all work for me unconsciously, and I will reap the 
reward of their labors.” 

He laughed softly, and leaned back upon his cush- 
ions. 

Lord Chetwynd, meanwhile, had entered the draw- 
ing-room. His brief absence from his guests had 
scarcely been noticed. Miss Monk, her swarthy cheeks 
aflame, her dull black eyes gleaming with a red sparkle, 
her face all animation, her tall figure all undulating 
grace, stood under one of the gasaliers, the centre of an 
appreciative and admiring group. His lordship glanced 
about the room in quest of his young wife. 

Bernice was in a further corner of the long apart- 
ment, and was also standing. She was in conversation 
with a tall, blonde young gentleman, and exhibited a 
feverish gayety. She was plain at best, but to-night 
her brown, gypsy face was startlingly pale, her lips 
colorless, and her entire appearance contrasted pain- 
fully with that of Miss Monk. But Bernice’s brown 
eyes shone like stars, with a strange, fitful lustre and 
brilliance that almost atoned for her lack of beauty. 
She suddenly shivered, turned from her group of admir- 
ers and went to the fire, sinking into a chair at the 
corner of the hearth and shivering violently. 

“ How cold it is !” she murmured, half crouching 
before the bright blaze. “ Ah, that was like a breath 
from the North Pole, keen and frosty ! I seem to 
wither before it like some summer flower before the 
breath of winter.” 

“ Bernice,” exclaimed the marquis, in alarm, “ are 
you ill ? You look and speak so strangely — ” 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk. 


75 


Bernice raised her eyes to his, and there was a piteous 
look in her blazing orbs. Her pallor was become 
unearthly. 

“ Oh, Roy !” she cried, “ I am so cold ! There is a 
chill upon«me like that of death !” 

Her voice rang through the rooms like a tolling 
bell. 

In a panic of terror the young marquis gathered up 
her slight, shrunken figure in his arms, and bore her out 
of the room, up the stairs, and to her own chamber. 
With a furious pull at the bell he summoned Fifine, and 
bade her undress her mistress. He despatched a ser- 
vant, well-mounted, to Eastbourne for the Chetwynd 
family physician, and another to Chetwynd-by-sea for 
the humbler practitioner there. He summoned Mrs. 
Skewer to his young wife’s side, and the panic of his 
great dread spread throughout the household. 

The humble practitioner of Chetwynd-by-sea soon 
arrived, and was shown up into Lady Chetwynd’s pres- 
ence. He was a conscientious person, not at all learned, 
but he was conversant with the treatment of ordinary 
and simple diseases. 

Doctor Bennet approached the bedside, bent over the 
young marchioness, felt her pulse and looked grave. 

“ I should advise sending to Eastbourne for Doctor 
Hartright, my lord,” he said, drawing the marquis 
aside. 

“ I have sent for him,” said the marquis, briefly. 

Dr. Hartright appeared at last, and pronounced the 
case one of fever. He was a large, portly man, of 
benevolent aspect, a skillful physician, a scholar, and a 
gentleman. The marquis looked at him appealingly 
for his verdict. 

“ You need not look so despairing, my lord,” said Dr. 
Hartright, as the two walked away from the bedside. 


7 6 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ Lady Chetwynd is young, endowed with a splendid 
constitution, and I venture to predict that she will soon 
be well again.” 

Despite this prediction, despite the constant attend- 
ance of her physicians, the devoted care of her nurses, 
Lady Chetwynd grew steadily worse. The fever seems 
to have seized upon her with a hold that would not be 
shaken off. Miss Monk shared Lord Chetwynd’s vigils 
during the night, and Dr. Hartright and Mrs. Skewer 
also remained in the sick-room. By morning, the young 
marchioness was raving in delirium. She did not know 
her husband ; she shrieked in terror when Miss Monk 
bent over her, and raved wildly of St. Kiida, its rocks, 
its waves, its grandeur, and its freedom. 

By midday, Lord Chetwynd, nearly beside himself, 
sent his butler to Eastbourne with a telegraphic mes- 
sage to a famous London physician. The great Lon- 
don doctor arrived at Chetwynd Park that evening, 
held a consultation with Dr. Hartright, suggested a 
course of treatment, and went back to town upon the 
following morning, without having been able to better 
the condition of the sick girl, or even to probe the cause 
of her illness. The fact that there was fever in the vil- 
lage of Chetwynd-by-sea seemed to be proof sufficient 
to the trio- of doctors that this fever of Lady Chetwynd’s 
was of the same character. 

A week passed — the week required by the subtle 
Indian poison to do its work — and Sylvia Monk knew 
that the end was near. 

The day was dark and chilling, one of those cheerless 
December days which are found nowhere so cheerless 
as in England. A low fire burned in the grate. The 
curtains were drawn back, and the windows were low- 
ered at the top. Bernice Chetwynd lay upon her bed 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk. 77 


in a deep sleep — a sleep so profound that it seemed like 
death. % 

Miss Monk sat at the bed foot, her face hidden by 
the lace bed drapery. She was motionless as a statue. 
Her evil work was almost done, she believed, but she 
felt no exultation. The awe and dread of death that 
was one of her peculiarities made her afraid to look 
upon her victim. It required all her self-command to 
prevent her rushing from the room. She was a coward, 
and her soul trembled. 

Lord Chetwynd stood by the bedside, his fair face 
haggard, his blue eyes weary with watching. He was 
still hoping, and just now he was watching the face of 
the great London physician and Dr. Hartright, who 
were bending over the patient. The first-mentioned 
doctor held Bernice’s slender wrist in his hand. 

“ How sweetly she sleeps !” whispered the marquis, 
turning his hungry, eager gaze from the doctors to his 
young wife and back again. “ This deep sleep will 
restore her strength. Is not the fever leaving her ? ’ 

“ Yes,” said the London doctor, “ the fever is leaving 
her.” 

A great glow of joy lighted up the face of the mar- 
quis. 

“Will she awaken in her right mind ?” he asked. 

The London doctor answered him in the affirmative, 
still keeping his finger upon the lessening pulse and his 
eyes upon the thin pinched face of Bernice. 

“ Thank God !” cried Lord Chetwynd, fervently, the 
glow on his face deepening. “Thank God that my 
darling is to be spared to me.” 

The face of the London doctor grew pitying. He 
said, not looking at the marquis : 

“I have not said that she will live, my lord. It is 
not I who hold in my hands the issues of life and death. 


78 


The Hazmted Hitsband. 


I cannot give Lady Chetwynd the boon of life. That 
must come from a hand that is mightier than mine.” 

“But you said that she will live.” 

“ Ah, no, I did not say that. My lord, her life is ebb- 
ing even now. She will waken presently, know you, 
speak to you perhaps, but it will be a flaming up of the 
dying torch. My lord, it is as well to know the truth. 
Lady Chetwynd is dying now, at this moment.” 

Lord Chetwynd uttered a cry of horror that rang 
through the room. 

Miss Monk shuddered, and emitted a low moan. 

The statue-like figure upon the bed stirred feebly. 
The heavy brown lids lifted slowly from the hollow 
eyes. The poor, pinched young face awakened to a 
^semblance of life again. The cry of Chetwynd had 
aroused Bernice from her slumbers, and her eyes sought 
him with feeble glances. 

“ Roy !” she whispered, faintly. “ Roy !” 

Lord Chetwynd choked down his sobs and bent over 
her, his face white as her own, an awful anguish in his 
blue eyes. 

“Oh, Bernice!” he said, in a choked voice. “Ber- 
nice — little wife ! My God ! how can I bear it ?” 

He fell on his knees beside the bed, and buried his 
face in the coverlet, his frame shaking with suppressed 
sobs. 

A blank look, as of an utter failure to comprehend 
his emotion, passed over the sick girl’s face. She 
looked from Chetwynd’s bowed head to the faces of the 
doctors. They were regarding her with pitying eyes. 
She turned her glances upon Mrs. Skewer and Fifine, 
but both were crying with stifled sobs. With a puz- 
zled expression she raised her thin hand between her 
and the light. The hand fell again helplessly upon the 
bed. 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk . 79 


“ I — I understand — I have been ill,” said Bernice, in 
a fluttering voice. “ I had a chill, I remember. How 
weak I am ! And yet I have no pain — only a sense of 
delicious languor. Roy, why are you crying ? I am 
almost well again !” 

The great London doctor laid his hand upon her fore- 
head, upon which a moisture was gathering. 

“ My dear Lady Chetwynd,” he said, solemnly, “you 
are ‘ almost well again.’ ” 

Something in his tones gave her the alarm. She 
started, looked again at him, and a low panting cry 
broke from her pallid lips. 

“ You — you speak as if I were dying?” she gasped. 
“ I am not dying. Oh ! Doctor, I am so young, and I 
love Roy so, and he loves me ! I know he loves me. I 
cannot die. You do not mean it — you cannot. Why, I 
am only seventeen, and full of life and strength. Oh, 
no, you do not mean that I am dying.” 

She looked at the physicians entreatingly, her soul in 
her wild eyes. Dr. Hartright’s lips quivered, and he 
turned away. The London doctor’s pitying look deep- 
ened, but his duty was plain, and he could npt shirk it. 

“My dear child,” he said, with a tender solemnity 
that brought conviction to the girl’s rebellious heart, 
“ you are dying even now. It would be cruel to keep 
the truth from you. If you have any last words to say, 
say them now.” 

There was an awful hush in the room. Lord Chet- 
wynd stilled his sobs. Bernice drew the sheet above 
her face and was silent. What passed in her young 
soul in that awful moment, they could only guess. Life 
was so sweet to her, and she was so young — how could she 
die ? They fancied they heard her lips move in prayer. 
They watched her in an agony of suspense and dread. 

Presently she uncovered her face. It was calm now, 


8o 


The Haunted Husband. 


and upon it was set the seal of an ineffable peace. The 
hollow eyes shone with a lustre that might be a reflec- 
tion of the glory of heaven. 

“ It is well,” she whispered. “ I am not afraid to die. 
I have not left my preparations for death until this 
hour. Oh, Roy, don’t cry. It is better so. I am will- 
ing to die. But it is so strange that I should die. Why, 
a week ago I was health itself. Only yesterday I 
rowed on the bay — was it yesterday ? It seems a hun- 
dred years ago. Oh, Doctor, are you sure that I am 
dying ? Perfectly sure ?” 

The London doctor bowed assent. 

“Where is Sylvia ?” asked Bernice, her eyes roving. 

The motionless figure at the foot of the bed stirred 
now, and Miss Monk came slowly forward, her frame 
shrinking in a horror and loathing of death, her face 
hidden by her handkerchief. 

“ I want to see Roy and Sylvia alone,’' whispered 
Bernice. “ Please go out, all of you, and leave me with 
them.” 

The doctors, Fifine, and Mrs. Skewer, all went out, 
as she had bidden. Bernice was alone with the hus- 
band who worshiped her, and the subtle and terrible 
enemy who had brought her to this pass ! 

For a few moments a deathly silence again reigned 
in the sick room. Bernice’s thin weak hand fluttered 
to the bowed head of her young husband, and rested 
there like a benediction. Her eyes wandered to Miss 
Monk, who had sunk into a chair by the bedside, and 
whose face was still covered. At last the feeble voice 
spoke. 

“ Roy, I am not afraid to die,” she said, softly, her 
face suffused with a yearning tenderness, which even 
death could not change. “ It is better so. Be brave 
and calm, darling, for my sake. Look up. Let me 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk. 


81 


meet the gaze of your dear eyes once more. Let me 
take the memory of your loving glance into eternity 
with me.” 

Lord Chetwynd forced himself to be calm, and 
obeyed her wish. He continued to kneel beside her 
bed, outwardly calm, but inwardly convulsed with an 
awful agitation. 

“ Roy,” said Bernice, feebly, “ I feel myself grow- 
ing weaker. What I have to say must be said 
quickly. I have been very happy. I love you, 
darling. You have called me your guardian angel, 
and I shall be your guardian angel in truth now. 
I was not fit to be a marchioness. I am not stately nor 
beautiful — only a wild little island girl. Your wife 
should have been well-born. Hush, Roy ; you pain 
me. Your friends have never been reconciled to our 
marriage. The county families have blamed you for 
your mesalliance. But death condones everything. 
They will all be sorry for me now — I am so young ^o 
die !” and the girl’s voice grew piteous in its sorro 1 . 

“ Oh, my wife ! my wife !” 

“ My poor boy !” said Bernice, gently. “You will be 
lonely when 1 am gone. I have been here but a little 
while, but you will miss me from these grand rooms, 
miss my voice in the halls, my step on the stair, my 
presence everywhere. I know it all, Roy. But you are 
young, only three and twenty. In time, I shall become 
to you only a tender memory. You will think of me at 
twilight, on the water, or when you hear sweet music, 
but you will think that I am happy, and you will not 
wish me back: You will know that your darling is safe.” 

She paused, breathless, but strangely calm. Miss 
Monk shivered. 

“ Roy,” said his young wife, more gently, more softly, 
her sweet, faint voice fluttering like a dying bird, “in 


82 


The Haunted Husband. 


heaven there is no jealousy. And so — and so — bear 
with me, Roy ; I know the words will pain you now, 
but some time they will come back to you as a blessing 
— in the days when I shall have become a tender mem- 
ory, you will take another wife to your bosom — ” 

“ Never — never !” cried Chetwynd, in passionate des- 
pair. 

“ You think so now, darling, but you are the last of a 
great line, and you have no one to succeed you. You 
are young, and you will need some one to cheer you. 
You will live to be old, Roy, and you must not live all 
your years alone. And so I want to say, dear, that I — I 
should like you to marry again. I know of your betrothal 
to Sylvia. I love her, Roy, and I would like her to 
take my place. She loves you and will make you 
happy. When I shall have been dead a year — how 
strangely it sounds ! — I want you to marry Sylvia. She 
will talk with you of me, and will comfort you in your 
sorrow, and will take my place, Roy, by and by. I 
shall not be jealous. Promise me, Roy.” 

“ I cannot !'* 

Bernice took his hand in one of hers. She reached 
out and took Sylvia’s hand also. The guilty woman 
would have drawn back, but those cold, slender fingers 
closed upon hers, and drew her hand to that of Chet- 
wynd, and placed it in his and clasped them both. 

“I give you both my blessing,” fluttered the failing 
voice. “ Sylvia, be good and true to him. Roy, my 
husband, my love, my— Tell father and mother — St. 
Kilda— ” 

The sweet voice stopped. The hand that clasped 
those of Chetwynd and Sylvia Monk grew suddenly 
cold and stiff. The marquis started up. An indescribable 
change had come over the little brown face, the eyes 
were fixed and glassy, the mouth still parted with a 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk. 83 


smile frozen on it. Chetwynd uttered a wild cry and 
sprang to the door, summoning the doctors. 

They were just outside, and hastened in. The great 
London doctor felt the girl’s pulse and gently closed the 
staring eyes. 

“She is dead !” he said solemnly. 

Miss Monk uttered a shrill shriek and went into hys- 
terics. Mrs. Skewer and Fifine bore her to her own 
rooms, leaving her to the pangs of her guilty conscience, 
the ministrations of old Ragee, and the benefit of her 
soothing draught. 

We need not dwell upon the despair of the young 
husband. He shut himself up in his room, and refused 
admittance to any one. Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, took 
charge of the house, and of the necessary arrangements 
for the interment. 

The next day Gilbert Monk, who had been summoned 
by telegraph by his sister, arrived at the Park. 

He seemed shocked at the sudden death of the young 
marchioness. The house was overhung with a pall of 
gloom. The servants moved about noiselessly in list 
slippers. Doors were opened and shut softly ; voices 
spoke in whispers^ He asked for Lord Chetwynd, but 
was told that the marquis saw no one, not even the rec- 
tor of his church. He wandered in and out of the lower 
rooms, and at last went up to his sister’s apartments 
and knocked upon the door of the boudoir. 

Old Ragee gave him admittance. He pushed past 
her into the room. 

Miss Monk was seated at her writing table, making 
out an order to her London dressmaker for mourning. 
Her face was haggard and worn. Her dull eyes were 
like black ashes. She had not the look of a repentant 
woman, nor had she the look of a guilty one. Monk 
could not guess at the state of her mind. 


§ 4 


The Haunted Husband. 


“Ah, Gilbert!” said Sylvia, in her smooth voice. “I 
expected you earlier. Bernice died very suddenly. I 
suppose you were fearfully shocked.” 

“Well, no,” said Monk, coolly, taking- a seat near his 
sister. “ I expected it, you know.” 

Miss Monk’s face paled. 

“ When is Lady Chetwynd to be buried !” Monk 
asked. 

“ She is to lie in state a week. So Sanders has ar- 
ranged. Roy hasn’t given any directions yet, and no 
one dare speak to him. He is locked up in his room. It 
is impossible to send for Bernice’s friends at St. Kilda. 
They are shut in for the winter. It is now December, 
as you know, and no boat can be found to go to the 
island, nor, if one could, could the Gwellan’s be got 
here in time for the funeral.” 

The announcement that Bernice was to remain un- 
buried for a week was what Gilbert Monk had expect- 
ed. The drug whose subtle power held Bernice in her 
death-like trance would lose its effect in three days, 
and he must contrive to give her another dose before 
the first should exhaust itself. 

He took his leave, and wandered out of doors into the 
park. The time passed heavily to him, but his secret 
schemes kept him at the Park. 

The next day was passed, and the next. The third 
day was come. 

Upon this day Bernice would awaken to life and 
strength unless a second dose of poison could be admin- 
istered to her. But how was it to be done ? 

About noon he went to the closed door of the draw- 
ing-room and knocked for admittance. He knew that 
Bernice was lying in state here, and it was time he was 
at work. Mrs. Skewer came to the door, opening it 
only a few inches. 


The Puppets of Mr. Monk . 


“ It is only I,” said Monk. “ I have not seen Lady 
Chetwynd since her death. May I see her now ?” 

“ Certainly, sir,” said the housekeeper. “ Come in, sir.” 

She gave him admittance. The windows of the 
drawing-room were darkened. The walls and windows 
were hung alike with funereal black. There were no 
fires. A chill desolation reigned. 

Monk advanced to the bier, and Miss Skewer laid off 
the linen that covered the face. Monk drew back with 
a shudder. Surely Bernice was dead ! One in a trance 
could not look like this ! 

A horrible misgiving came to him. A great horror 
came upon him. It was many minutes before he could 
speak. Mrs. Skewer respected his emotion, misinter- 
preting it, and busied herself with the flowers at the 
marble throat. 

“ We keep these flowers continually fresh,” she said. 
“ These are wilting. I will get the fresh ones from the 
conservatory while you are here, sir.” 

She stole out silently, leaving Monk alone. 

He glanced around him hurriedly. There was a 
glass of water near which had been brought in by Mrs. 
Skewer for her own refreshment. He seized it. He 
had ready the larger of the two globules he had secured, 
and he dropped it into a glass. It dissolved on the in- 
stant. He drew from his pocket a teaspoon and bent 
over the girl. There was no time for hesitation. He 
filled the spoon, carried it to the parted lips, and slowly 
emptied it. The poisoned draught found it way down 
the girl’s throat. 

He wiped her stony lips with his handkerchief. He 
put his spoon in his pocket, and emptied the glass upon 
the thick carpet in a distant corner. He replaced the 
tumbler on the table, and returned the bier. 


86 


The Haunted Husband. 


How still and cold she was ! How gray was her 
thin face — how pinched the nostrils ! 

“ I have heard of trances,” thought Monk ; “ they are 
common enough ; so I can understand how she would 
linger a week without nourishment. But this semblance 
of death is horrible. I fear she is really dead !” 

At this juncture Mrs. Skewer returned with her 
flowers, and he departed, drawing a long breath of 
relief when he found himself in the hall. 

The week passed. The day appointed for the funer- 
al — the sixth day after the supposed death — arrived. 
The great mansion was thronged with guests. Lord 
Chetwynd’s relatives had all arrived. The county fam- 
ilies were all represented. The young marquis, dressed 
in deepest mourning, showed himself outside his room 
for the first time since his bereavement. 

He had grown deathly white and thin. His blue 
eyes burned with despairing fires. His mouth was set 
in an expression of awful sternness. No one dared to 
speak to him words of condolence. 

The form of Bernice was coffined, and her friends 
gathered to look for the last time on her sweet young 
face. The coffin lid was screwed down, and that face 
was hidden from their sight. The black crape-covered 
coffin was carried out to the waiting hearse, and the 
funeral cortege took its way to the parish church of 
Chetwynd-by-sea. 

There was a funeral sermon, and with tender eulogy, 
with tears and heart-breaking, they consigned Bernice 
to her tomb. They carried her down to the family 
vault of the Chetwynds under the parish church, and 
deposited her coffin upon a stone ledge, close beside the 
coffin of Lord Chetwynd’s mother, the late Lady Bar- 
bara Monk. An^here, one by one, they went away 
and left her. The bereaved young husband lingered 


A Secret Expedition. 


87 


far beyond the others, but the good rector with gentle 
authority drew him away at last, and the sexton locked 
the massive iron door with his massive key, and went 
away also. And Bernice Chetwynd, living or dead — 
ah ! which was it ? — lay coffined and alone in the dark- 
ness and amid the decay of that dread charnel-house ; 
and in all the wide world but one soul suspected that 
the spark of life still smouldered within her clay-cold 
form. 

If aught should happen to Gilbert Monk to prevent 
his intended visit to her that night, and if, indeed, she 
were not dead, but Irving, what would be her fate ? 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SECRET EXPEDITION. 

The parish church of Chetwynd-by-sea was a Gothic 
structure of gray stone, and stood at one end of the 
long straggling village street. Upon one side of it was 
the gray stone Gothic rectory, half-hidden in mantling 
ivy-vines. In the rear of the church, upon an inferior 
street, a sort of green lane, stood the sexton’s dwelling, 
in the middle of Mechanic’s Row, a block of two-storied 
dingy brick houses of humble pretensions. The keys 
of the church were kept the one by the rector, the 
other by the sexton. 

There were two keys to the family vault of the Chet- 
wynds. One of them was kept locked in the church 
safe, with the church register and records and the sil- 
ver communion service. The key of the safe was in 
the possession of the rector. The other key of the 


88 


The Haunted Husband. 


vault was in the keeping of the Chetwynd family, and was 
deposited in the tall walled-in safe in the library of 
Chetwynd Park, in company with valuable family 
papers, heirlooms, jewels, and silver plate. 

In order to carry out his plans, it was necessary that 
Gilbert Monk should possess himself of one of the keys 
of the Chetwynd burial vault, and also find means to 
enter the church. The task appeared difficult ; but he 
was not a man to be dismayed by obstacles. 

He returned home from the funeral in advance of 
t Lord Chetwynd, went to his room, packed his portman- 
teau, and ordered a carriage to take him to Eastbourne 
in time to catch the early evening up train. Then he 
went to his sister’s room. 

Miss Monk sat before her fire. There was a red 
gleam in her half-shut eyes that spoke of jubilant 
triumph. She was looking into an ivory-framed hand- 
mirror, and studying the effect of her new jet ear-rings 
shaped as crosses. 

“ Busy worshiping at the usual shrine, eh, Sylvia ?” 
said Gilbert Monk, lightly, closing the door behind him, 
and satisfying himself with a glance that old Ragee was 
not present. “ I’m off for town again. Chetwynd Park 
is intolerable to me in its present gloom. I shall be back 
and forth, of course, but my address fo.r the present 
will be at Scotsby and Newman’s, Chancery lane. What 
are you going to do with yourself, my dear ?” 

Miss Monk laid down her hand-glass upon her knee, 
and answered with cool deliberation : 

“ I have done with action, Gilbert. It is not necessary 
for me to do anything.” 

“ Do you intend to remain at Chetwynd Park ?” 

“ Most assuredly,” said Miss Monk, coolly. “ My foot 
is here, as I may say, upon my native heath. I am no 
longer the poor dependent, but prospective mistress of 


A Secret Expedition. 


89 


all these grandeurs. Mrs. Skewer went to Lord Chet- 
wynd’s room this morning for directions in regard to 
something or other. He waved her off, saying : ‘ Go to 
Miss Monk.’ I am virtually mistress here. Of course 
I shall stay.” 

“You’re a lucky woman,” said Monk, drawing a chair 
near hers and seating himself. “ I dare say, if you 
besiege the fortress properly, that you may become the 
second Lady Chetwynd.” 

“ There is no possible doubt on the subject,” replied 
Miss Monk, positively. “ He was bound to me. His 
mother urged him to marry me. He considered me for 
a long time as his future wife. He knows that I love 
him. And, to crown all, Bernice, when dying, told him 
that she did not want him to mourn always- for her — 
that she hoped he would marry me in a year. She 
clasped my hand in his, and so died.” 

“ Incredible !” 

“ I should have said so, if you had told me the story,” 
said Miss Monk, “ but Bernice never was like any one 
else. The knowledge that her husband had been my 
betrothed lover was gall and wd^najvood to her. In her 
exalted moods she was quite capable of committing sui- 
cide in order to leave him free.” 

“ I wish you all success, if I may be allowed to reiter- 
ate my good wishes,” said Monk, coolly; “and now I 
must be off. I congratulate you upon your success, and 
I promise you that I will do nothing to mar it.” 

Sylvia Monk started and looked at her brother uneas- 
ily. 

“What success?” she demanded, looking out at him 
from under her heavy, drooping eyelids in a quick, fur- 
tive way. “ And how could you mar it if you wished ? 
You talk in riddles, Gilbert.” 

“ Yes ? Let me tell you plainly, then,” and he put his 


9 o 


The H atinted Husband. 


mouth close to her ear and hissed : “ I know how Lady 
Chetwynd died ! I know it all !” 

Miss Monk shrank away from him, her face growing 
livid, a wild look in her opening eyes. She tried to 
speak, but no sound came from her trembling lips. 
But there was an expression of terror on her face, of 
agonized questioning, of deadly fear, that were sufficient 
confession of her guilt. 

Monk laughed softly, enjoying her abject fear. 

The hand-mirror slid from Sylvia’s knees to the floor, 
and she laid back her head on the cushions of her chair 
gasping for breath. 

“ Did you feel so secure then ?” asked Monk. ‘‘You 
need not take my discovery so to heart. You are free 
to wear what you have won, or can win. Only when I 
want money I shall expect you to supply me. That is 
the point of all my remarks. I have got a hold upon 
you whether you acknowledge it or not, and you must 
be my banker till I realize from a venture I am now 
making, and which will bring me in a fortune. I shall 
want large sums of money, possibly, and you must get 
them for me. I say must! You manage other things so 
cleverly — such as removing a rival, for instance — that it 
will be but a mere trifle for you to secure me such sums 
of money as I may want from time to time. Good- 
bye.” 

He touched her hand lightly and went out of the 
room airily, leaving her alone. 

She looked after him fearingly. 

“ How much does he know ?” she whispered. “ There 
was a vast amount of hidden meaning in his manner. 
But he can only suspect. But I shall not dare refuse 
him money when he asks for it. I am, to a certain 
extent, in his power.” 

On leaving Miss Monk’s room, Gilbert walked down 


A Secret Expedition. 


9 1 


the long hall toward the grand staircase. As he 
paused for a moment on the landing, a woman, with 
her handkerchief at her eyes, entered the hall at its 
lower end from a long corridor beyond. Monk paused 
to look at the woman as she approached. Her little 
ribboned white cap sat jauntily on her head, her smart 
and coquettish attire and trim figure, all proclaimed 
her to be Fifine, Lady Chetwynd’s chattering French 
maid. 

Monk waited for her to come up. 

“ What’s the matter ?” he asked, abruptly. 

“ Nothing, monsieur," answered Fifine, wiping her 
tears, “ only Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, is returned from 
the funeral, and he called me into the housekeeper’s 
room just now and said that my lord is in such a frame 
of mind that I had best not be seen by his lordship. 
What misery! What despair! His lordship cannot 
look upon my face, lest I remind him of my poor young 
mistress. Ah, monsieur, she was an angel ! It is the 
good who die early. But Mr. Sanders has generously 
promised to pay me a year’s wages, and I’m to leave 
to-morrow.” 

“ You go to Paris?” 

“ No, monsieur — to London. My father has a pastry- 
cook’s shop in Soho. He has achieved a grand reputa- 
tion for his French rolls, his meringues, his cakes. I 
shall take another situation as soon as I can find one 
with a lady of quality, and in the meantime I will stop 
with the good papa in the pastry-cook’s shop in Soho." 

Monk slipped a silver coin in her hand and went on 
down the stairs. 

The lower hall was deserted, and he passed unob- 
served into the Moorish library, locking the door behind 
him. 

He lighted a taper and went to the massive safe, 


92 


The Haunted Husband. 


which had been built into the wall, and was hidden by 
ordinary double doors of wood. He had, on a former 
visit, before his recent trip to town, taken wax impres- 
sions of the various locks, and now produced keys, one 
of which unlocked the wooden doors covering the front 
of the safe. 

He then unlocked the heavy iron doors without diffi- 
culty, and explored the interior of the safe with nervous 
rapidity. Fortune favored him. In one of the drawers 
he found several bunches of keys, one of them belong- 
ing to the “ strong room,” and several odd keys, one of 
which, a great, massive, rusty key that might have 
belonged to a door of the Tower, was seized upon 
eagerly as the one he wanted. 

He thrust it into his pocket, relocked the safe as he 
had found it, blew out the light of his taper, and 
restored the latter to the taper-stand on a writing-table 
whence he had taken it, and noiselessly unlocked the 
door leading into the hall. He listened a moment. 
There was no movement in the hall outside, and he 
opened the door and passed out of the still, darkened 
library, his pulses beating like tiny drums. 

He took down his greatcoat from the hall-rack, and 
noticed, as he drew on the over-garment, that the hall- 
porter was fast asleep in his great high -backed Eliza- 
bethan chair. He went down the steps into the car- 
riage porch. Mr. Sanders was there, awaiting anxiously 
the return of Lord Chetwynd. The carriage Monk had 
ordered was also there, and the driver was half asleep 
on his box. 

Monk waited to shake hands with the bailiff. 

“ You ought to wait for the express, sir,” Sanders 
said, glancing at his watch. “ The first train is only a 
parliamentary.” 

** True/’ said Monk ; “ but I was obliged to go on it. I 


A Secret Expedition. 


93 


am reading- law now, Sanders, and our firm directed me 
to stop off at Lewes upon a little business with a client 
who is to be at the station to meet me. Business 
leaves one little time to indulge in private griefs, Mr. 
Sanders. I will run down again to the Park soon, and 
I hope then to find Chetwynd in a more healthy frame 
of mind. Ah ! a house of mourning is a sad place !” 

He stepped down into the vehicle, entered it, and was 
driven down the avenue and out at the lodge gates on 
his way to Eastbourne. 

The day was fast darkening. The gloom of Decem- 
ber was upon the thick woods bordering the road, upon 
the gray sky and the gray, heaving sea. A gloom 
began also to settle upon the spirits of Gilbert Monk. 
He began to be beset with fears in regard to Bernice 
Chetwynd in her coffin. The power of the drug she 
had unconsciously taken must be nearly spent. She 
must be near her awakening. What if Lord Chetwynd 
were still in the vault with her ? What if she should 
revive ? What if his lordship were to rescue her from 
the clutch of her enemies ? 

The very thought brought a cold sweat to Monk’s 
forehead. His impatience became almost insupport- 
able. 

Gilbert Monk was very silent during the remainder 
of the drive to Eastbourne, but his fingers were inces- 
santly busy with the big rusty key which he believed 
was to open to him an immense fortune. 

Arrived at the town, Monk found the train on the 
point of departure. He thrust a coin in the coachman’s 
hand, secured a ticket to London, and ran across the 
platform. The guard opened the door of an empty 
first-class compartment, Monk sprang in, the door was 
shut and locked upon him, and the train started. 

At the first station at which the train stopped Monl$ 


94 


The Haunted Husband. 


arose, unlocked the door of the coach with a key which 
he always carried for the purpose, and let himself out 
upon the side of the train furthest from the station. 
Then, with his portmanteau in his hand, he walked 
away in the darkness along a rural lane, not having 
been observed by any one. He moved briskly; as 
toward a certain gaol. The train went on presently at 
its slow and labored rate of progress, and as it disap- 
peared in a distant cutting, Gilbert Monk came out 
upon a cross-road bordered with hedges. 

Here, drawn up at one side of the lonely country 
road, was a closed carriage, to which were attached 
two horses. A driver sat upon his box smoking a 
black pipe, and keeping a vigilant look-out upon all 
sides, as it seemed. 

“ Is that you, Flack ?” asked Monk. 

The driver uttered an assent, and sprang down to the 
ground. He opened the door of the carriage, seized 
Monk’s portmanteau and put it under the seat, and 
waited for Monk to enter the vehicle. 

“ Have you got everything all right ?” asked Monk. 
“ Where’s your dark lantern ?” 

Flack produced, from under one of the seats in the 
carriage, a lantern. He turned back the slide, and a 
red stream of light filled the vehicle. The front seat 
was seen to be heaped with shawls, cloaks, and other 
articles of apparel. There was also a small hamper of 
wines and biscuits, with a bottle of brandy, all ready 
for instant use. 

“ That is well,” declared Monk. “ I believe we have 
everything necessary.” 

He turned back the lantern so that the light fell upon 
the face of the coachman. 

It was a hang-dog face, of a low and brutal type : 
one of those faces that are oftenest seen at the criminal 


A Secret Expedition . 


95 


dock. He had recently committed some crime for which 
he was likely to be severely punished. Scotby and 
Newman, despite their location in Chancery lane, were 
criminal lawyers, and had been applied to by Flack as 
his counsel in his present trouble. It was thus that 
Gilbert Monk had heard of him. 

Monk had studied the man and his history, and 
learned various facts which would place Flack in his 
power. Monk obtained a private interview with Flack, 
assuming- the air of a master. The fellow was coarse, 
brutal, unprincipled, and utterly base, but he cringed 
to Monk like a very coward. The latter gave bail for 
the appearance of the fellow at court when wanted, and 
made a compact with him, by virtue of which Flack 
was to serve him faithfully, and to receive therefor a 
certain sum of money and protection from the aveng- 
ing law for all his past crimes. 

Flack turned back the sli,de that covered the lantern, 
and hid the latter under the seat. Monk stepped into 
the carriage, saying, in a low voice : 

“ Drive slowly. We will arrive at Chetwynd about 
midnight. Save the horses for the drive out. Be cau- 
tious. And now be off.” * 

It was near midnight and pitchy dark, when Gilbert 
Monk’s closed carriage came out upon a point of the 
hilly road overlooking the village of Chetwynd. Monk 
stopped the carriage here and alighted. The village 
below was dark and silent, only a few lights gleaming 
through the darkness. Out at sea one or two lights 
flickered with the waves. 

“ It is just the night for our work,” said Monk. “ We 
could not have had a better. You are to remain here 
with the carriage. The sound of wheels on those paved 
streets at this hour would arouse every soul in the vil- 
lage. The girl does not live half a mile from here. 


9<3 


The Haunted Husband. 


She’ll be ready, though, despite the gloom. Girls are 
always ready for an elopement. I’ll go down there 
alone. Yon are to wait here till I return, if I don’t come 
till morning.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Flack. “ You’ll find me here, if you 
don’t come till Lady-day.” 

“ Give me the lantern ; I shall want it. The long 
black cloak also, with the hood ; and don’t forget the 
basket with the brandy and the tools. Her father may 
have locked her up, and I shall then have to release her. 
There are a pair of lady’s boots in the basket, with other 
necessaries. That will do.” 

Monk took the cloak and basket on his arm, and bur- 
dened himself with such other things as he deemed 
needful. Then, with a parting admonition to Flack not 
to sleep, and to be on the watch for his return, he strode 
away down the hill toward the sea, disappearing from 
the view of his ally in the darkness. Flack, as is seen, 
supposed his new master to be engaged in an elope- 
ment with a young lady. 

The half mile of intervening distance was soon trav- 
ersed. As he approached the old gray church he heard 
the clock of Chetwynd Park strike the hour of midnight. 

He stole up to the churchyard gate, softly opened it, 
and crept into the porch and crouched there, listening. 

There was no one in the street. He turned on a tiny 
section of the light from his lantern, and found the lock 
on . the church-door. He had taken a wax impression of 
the keyhole a week before, and was now provided with 
a key, with which he unlocked the door, and passed into 
the building, locking the door behind him. 

His lantern was hidden under his coat. He dared 
not turn on the light, lest some stray gleam should be 
seen by some casual eye and bring detection upon him. 
He crept along the aisle. Under the reading-desk was 


GILBERT MONK CARRYING BERNICE FROM THE CHURCH. — See Chapter VII 






























>• - «f 


























- 










' 


























































A Secret Expedition. 


97 


a door, kept always locked, which opened upon the 
stairway leading to the vault. Monk had provided him- 
self with a key to fit this door also, and he hastened to 
apply it. 

On opening the door, he turned on the full light of his 
lantern, and crept down the wide stone stair. He 
peered about him with restless, incessant glances* and 
paused again in the arched stone passage below. A 
door opened off the wide passage into the Chetwynd 
family vault, into which the key he had stolen from the 
safe in the library at Chetwynd Park gave him admit- 
tance. 

Monk advanced into the gloomy crypt to the bench 
upon which the coffin of Bernice Chetwynd had been 
deposited, and held up his lantern, letting the light fall 
in a ruddy flood. The coffin, strangely long for a girl 
like Bernice, was soon found. Monk knew it by the 
crisp freshness of the black crape covering it, and by 
the gleam of the burnished silver handles. To make 
sure, he examined the shining silver plate, and read 
upon it the legend : 


BERNICE, 

Wife of Roy , Ninth Marquis of Chetwynd. 
Aged 17 Years. 


He set down his lantern upon the coffin, and taking 
out tools from the basket he had brought, he set to 
work to unscrew the coffin lid. His hands trembled so 
that he could scarcely work. His heart seemed to swell 


9 8 


The Haunted Husband. 


within him to suffocation. He paused every instant to 
listen. When the lid had been unscrewed and carefully 
laid aside, there was such a blur upon his eyes that he 
could not see the girl’s face though the glass covering 
it. 

“ How weak I am !” he muttered. “My fingers are 
strangely clumsy too. I am all nerves to-night.” 

He took a drink of the brandy he had brought for 
Bernice. It steadied his nerves, and he raised the glass 
and looked full upon the uncovered face of Lady Chet- 
wynd. 

It had not changed since he had last seen it. The 
long black eyelashes lay upon the gray cold cheeks, so 
strangely sunken. The pinched nostrils, the sunken 
eyes, the parted lips slightly protruding, all bore the 
semblance of death in such marked degree that Monk 
believed that she was dead. 

He laid his hand on her forehead. It felt to his touch 
like marble, and chilled him through and through. 

“ Old Ragee must have been deceived about those 
poisons,” he said to himself, in sudden despair and rage. 
“ Possibly I made a mistake in the globule I gave her. 
She’s dead, sure enough. My fortune will be what I 
can get out of Sylvia ; nothing more. And for this I 
have spent my money and worked and schemed — for 
this !” 

He muttered a curse and grated his teeth. 

An idea suddenly came to him. He started, drew a 
pocket mirror from his coat and held it above the girl’s 
parted lips. 

When he withdrew it there was a slight moisture 
upon it. 

Now, indeed, he went to work with a will. He pulled 
off his coat and unscrewed the entire top of the coffin 
Yfhich was removed, and the form of Bernice Chetwynd 


A Secret Expedition. 


99 


in her bride-like robes of white silk, lay stretched out 
before him. 

He spread the cloak he had brought upon an empty 
bench, and lifted the stiff, rigid figure in his arms and 
laid her upon it. Then he returned to the empty cof- 
fin. 

“ I’ll get a wax figure made to put in here,” he 
thought. “ But just now I want something for weight, 
that’s all.” 

He looked hastily about him. In a distant corner 
was a heap of stones. He seized upon them and 
packed them into the coffin, placing them so that they 
would not rattle should the case inclosing them be 
jarred. Then, with frequent glances at the silent fig- 
ure on the stone bench, he put on the top of the coffin 
and carefully screwed it into its place. A few minutes’ 
work restored the burial-case to its former appearance. 

And now, with a long breath of relief, he again 
approached the motionless, death-like figure on the 
bench. Its continued immobility frightened him. He 
persuaded himself that he had deceived himself in 
regard to the moisture on the glass. He tried the 
experiment again, with the same result. 

“She is alive !” he cried aloud, exultantly. “Perhaps 
nature is too weak to rally unassisted. I must do some- 
thing for her.” 

Her chafed her cold hands with feverish energy. He 
poured brandy between her lips. He called to her 
softly to awaken. 

And slowly— oh, how slowly !— the rigid figure began 
to relax. The stiffened limbs fell into more natural 
position. The cold, waxen hands fell slowly apart. 
And into the deathly face a look of life began to steal. 
The pinched look about the nostrils, the bluish tint 
about the sweet lips, the bluish eyelids, the gray, hoi- 


IOO 


The H amited Husband ’ 


low cheeks, all began to change, as under the touch of 
an invisible hand. The complexion became less like 
the ghastliness of death, and more like the pallor of 
sickness. Surely life was stealing back to the citadel 
whence it had been routed. Surely the blood was 
beginning to move sluggishly in those frozen veins ! 

Monk, in an agony of impatience, gave her more 
brandy. He doubted the evidence of his senses. He 
could not believe in the slow and subtle change going 
on before his eyes. He was half persuaded still that 
she was dead. 

But at last the spell upon her was broken. The blood 
began to flow more quickly in her veins. He felt her 
heart throbbing under his hand, and soon he felt the 
feeble pulse in her wrist. Her trance was ended. The 
thin, transparent eyelids trembled and flickered, and 
then lifted, and Bernice’s brilliant eyes, like stars of 
dusk, opened, and looked around her in a wondering 
stare. 

Monk moved backward a step, overcome with emo- 
tion. She was alive ! Alive — and every one but him 
believed her dead ! His fortune was made ! 

The wondering stare of the big brown eyes took in 
the stone arching above her, and the sweet voice of 
Bernice called, in fluttering, frightened tones, so feeble 
they could scarcely be heard : 

“ Roy ! Roy !” 

Monk could not answer her. His face was glowing 
like a demon’s. His eyes were ablaze. His sinister 
joy swelled within him, rendering him speechless. 

“ Oh, Roy !” said the fluttering voice, faintly. “ I’ve 
had such an awful dream! And I’m so tired, darling. 
Take me in your arms, Roy ; I am so cold.” 

Monk controlled himself now by the exercise of his 
reviving will. He drew from his pocket a vial of 


A Secret Expedition . 


IOI 


brandy, in which an innocent narcotic had been mixed, 
and stepped forward, placing it to the girl’s lips. She 
put it from her feebly in surprise. 

“ You here, Gilbert ?” she whispered. “ Am I not in 
my own room ? No ! Where am I ? Where is Roy ?” 

“Roy is at Chetwynd Park,” said Monk, calmly, 
“ abed and asleep, perhaps. And you are here.” 

“ Here ?” 

The girl feebly lifted herself to one elbow and stared 
around her wildly. The sepulchral character of the 
place was apparent to her at a glance. The coffins in 
the niches along the walls and on the stone benches, 
the arches, the flooring — all stone — impressed her with 
sudden terror. She glanced at her own bride-like gar- 
ments in increasing wonder and amaze. 

“ Where am I?” she asked. “ I had a chill, I remem- 
ber — and, oh, yes, I was very ill, and they told me that 
I was dying. I spoke to Roy and Sylvia — and then— 
Where am I ? Where am I ?” and her wild young voice 
rang shrilly and sharply through the crypt. 

“ All that happened a week ago,” said Monk. “ You 
were supposed to have died. This place is the Chet- 
wynd burial vault under the parish church in Chetwynd- 
by-sea. You were consigned to this tomb to-day by 
your friends, with all the pomp and ceremony due a 
Marchioness of Chetwynd. Roy is at the Park, 
attended by the old rector and by my sister Sylvia. I 
had a suspicion that you were in a trance, and came to 
see. Your husband believes you dead. Everybody 
believes you dead. Your obituary has been published 
1 in all the papers. Had it not been for me you must 
have died in. yonder coffin from which I took you. 

I You were buried alive !” 

Upon the girl’s face a slow horror had gathered. It 
seemed frozen there now. The wild eyes, the parted 


102 


The Haunted Husband. 


mouth, the white face, expressed a horror beyond 
words. She started up as if galvanized — her arms 
outstretched, her aspect startling, vivid, awful ! She 
tottered toward him. She tried to speak, but no words 
came, but instead pealed forth from her parted lips a 
shriek that rang through the dim vault and the old 
church, awakening a hundred echoes. Then she fell at 
Monk’s feet white and motionless. 

“ Fool that I am !” cried Gilbert Monk. “ I have 
been too abrupt. I have killed her.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


MONK S CARE OF BERNICE. 


The fear that he had killed Bernice by his abrupt 
revelations for a moment paralyzed Gilbert Monk. It 
was an awful moment. It seemed as if invisible hands 
had snatched his prey from him in the very hour of his 
triumph. He glared about him with menacing glances, 
as if daring invisibie enemies to combat. He stared 
down upon the senseless figure at his feet with a hor- 
rible fascination. 

A rush of damp, chill wind, strong with the odors of 
the charnel-house, passed over Bernice, fluttering her 
silken draperies. Monk fancied that she had stirred. 
In an instant he was himself again, cool, self-reliant, 


energetic. He stooped and gathered the girl in his 


arms and carried her again to the stone bench, laying ( 
her upon the unfolded cloak, and chafing her hands [ 
with violent energy. 

“It’s only a swoon, I’m sure,” he thought. “ Shel^ 


Monk's Care of Bernice. 


103 


must be very weak. Old Ragee said the poison in 
* vial number three ’ left the person who might take it 
as helpless as an infant. She has only fainted. Ber- 
nice — Bernice !” 

Bernice soon recovered, and sat upright on the stone 
bench, one hand upon her forehead in the attitude of 
one trying to remember, her dusky eyes exploring the 
recess of the vault with glances of horror and loathing. 

“ Do you feel better now, Bernice ?” Gilbert asked, 
modulating his tones to tenderest sympathy, and hid- 
ing the sudden exultant joy that swelled his soul. 

“ Better ?” and Bernice’s sweet, young voice thrilled 
him with its strangeness, and the girl's haunting eyes 
fixed their wild, troubled glances upon him. “ Oh, 
Gilbert ! is this place the Chetwynd burial vault ? Is 
all you have just tolc me true ? Are these my grave- 
clothes ?” and she looked in loathing at her dress. 
“ Have I been buried here — left to moulder in one of 
those hideous coffins — left to the worms, to darkness, 
to decay, to this horrible loneliness ; — under ground 
among all these dead people ?” 

“ Yes, Bernice.’ 

“ Oh, God ! they buried me while I was alive ! and if 
you had not come to me, Gilbert, I should have 
awakened in one of those loathsome coffins — should 
have struggled and prayed and fought in vain ! Oh, 
Gilbert !” — and she shuddered — “ how can I ever repay 
you for the happy chance that brought you to me ? I 
canntft understand why you came here.” 

“ It was a strange providence, Bernice. I had seen 
! a man once who lay in a trance. He came to life at his 
1 own funeral. You looked as he looked when I saw him 
’ in his coffin, and I had a sudden fancy — I call it instinct 
—that although you had seemed to be dead during six 
days, the spark of life might yet be smouldering in your 


104 


The Haunted Husband. 


bosom. I spoke to Doctor Hartright regarding my 
suspicions ; but he rebuked me sternly, and said that 
you were actually dead, and that my suspicions were 
the wildest folly. They consigned you to your tomb 
this afternoon. To-night 1 could not sleep. I was 
haunted by the idea that if you had really been in a 
trance, you might be dying in your coffin the most 
horrible of deaths by slow suffocation ; and so I stole 
out and came here. You can guess the rest. Provi- 
dence has made me your savior. I have brought you 
back to life.” 

“ And may God bless you, Gilbert Monk ! I shall 
love you as long as I live for this night’s work,” cried 
Bernice, with passionate fervor. “ I will be your sister. 
You shall have a home at Chetwynd Park so long as 
you live. Roy shall settle a handsome annuity upon 
you. I shall never-, never forget that you have saved my 
life, have rescued me from the tomb, have stolen me out 
of my coffin away from decay and the vile worms. Oh, 
Gilbert ! what a fate is this from which you have 
rescued me !” 

“ Terrible — horrible indeed !” 

The girl’s eyes roved about among the coffins with 
curious shrinking. 

“ From which of those coffins did you take me ?” she 
whispered, shuddering. 

“ From the one upon which the lantern stands. I 
have replaced the top. Will you look at it ?” 

Bernice hesitated, then nodded assent. 

Monk went to her, and supporting her gently, led 
her to the coffin whence he had taken her. The red 
light fell upon the engraved plate upon the top. Ber- 
nice read the inscription in a shrill, frightened whisper, 
while she rested heavily upon Monk’s arm. 

“ And I was in that narrow box,” she said, falteringly. 


Alonk's Care of Bernice . 


T °5 


“ They had put me out of their sight forever under 
that coffin lid, down in this cold, dark place ; and I was 
alive all the time ! Think, Gilbert. But for you I 
should be inside that black box at this very instant, 
moaning, crying, tearing my hair, praying wildly for 
help that could not come and dying a thousand deaths 
in one, while Roy is crying for me at Chetwynd Park, 
and praying God to help him bear his sorrow. I seem to 
hear his voice calling on my name. Roy ! Roy ! Take 
me to him, Gilbert — take me to my poor, broken-hearted 
darling !” 

She clung to Monk in anguished pleading. 

‘‘Yes, Bernice,” answered Gilbert Monk, gently. 
“ Can you walk, do you think ?” 

The girl tottered a few steps, and then reeled, and 
would have fallen, but he caught her. 

“ You are too weak to walk, Bernice,”' said the 
schemer. “ Let me give you a little more brandy. 
That will give you strength enough to reach the street 
at least, and I can carry you home.” 

He had hastily thrust his small bottle of drugged 
brandy in his pocket after Bernice had refused it, and 
he now produced it again, uncorked it, and placed it to 
her lips. 

She drank eagerly, more than he had expected. 

“ Now come,” she said. “ I feel stronger, Gilbert. 
Think of Roy in our great lonely rooms. What will he 
say when I come back to him from the grave ? You 
must go in and break the news to him gently while I 
stand outside, Gilbert. Imagine his amazement — his 
bewilderment— his joy ! Oh, come, come ! . I am wild 
to get to him !” 

She tottered toward the stair like a spectre. Monk 
took up his lantern, holding it aloft that he might see 
no trace remained of his midnight visit to the vault, 


io6 


The Haunted Hits band. 


and then he took up the cloak and basket he had 
brought, followed the girl out, locked the vault, and 
stole up the stair. At the top she paused, weak and 
gasping, for breath. 

“ Let me put this cloak on you, Bernice. So,” he 
said. 

He wrapped the long black cloak about her and 
pulled the close hood over her head, half hiding her 
white face. Her dress trailed below the cloak. He 
pinned it up for her as deftly as a woman. Then he 
opened the door and stole out with the girl, who sat 
down on the porch step while he locked up the church 
and put the key in his pocket. 

He had left everything as he had found it, with not a 
trace of his presence in the church upon that night. 
He felt exultant, triumphant, joyful. 

“Come, Bernice,” he said, softly. “ We must hurry.” 

The girl did not answer. Her head had fallen for- 
ward on her breast, and she was breathing heavily. 
The narcotic in the brandy she had drank had taken 
effect. She was asleep. 

“ It’s all right now,” muttered Monk. “ When she 
awakens she’ll be far enough from here.” 

He stooped over, gathered her up in his arms, and 
crept down the porch steps, moving among the tomb- 
stones toward the gate. As he passed out into the 
deserted street, he heard the stable clock of Chetwynd 
Park tolling solemnly the hour of two. 

He climbed the hilly street, and approached his 
carriage. He heard the horses pawing restlessly as he 
came near. 

“ Flack !” he called, in a low voice. 

“Yes, sir,” was the prompt answer. “ This way, sir.” 

Monk came up to the vehicle. The driver leaped 
down from his box, pipe in mouth, and opened the 


Monk' s Care of Bernice. 107 


coach door. Monk sat down his basket, turned back 
the slide of his lantern* flashing the light into the 
vehicle, and laid his helpless burden in upon the 
cushions. 

“ Is she asleep, sir ?” asked Flack, in amazement. 
“ Or is she in a swoon ?” 

“ She fainted away down below the hill,” said Monk, 
calmly. “ The walk was almost too much for her.” 

Flack winked significantly with his left eye. 

“Look here, Gov’nor,” he remarked, “this ’ere’s the 
rummiest elopement I ever heerd on. You’ve been 
gone up’ards of two hours, and come back carrying a 
girl- as is helpless. It has a queer look. Why don’t 
you tell the truth at once and shame your poor old 
father ? which I won’t mention his name. I am in your 
power, and I shouldn’t dare blow on you. Lor ! an 
abduction an’t nothing to what I’ve done. It’s an 
innocent child’s play. I like a man that’s bold and 
keen as you are, and up to a game or two of his own. 
You may as well take me into your confidence, Gov’nor ; 
I’ll serve you faithful.” 

Monk turned the light on the man’s face. He saw 
that the fellow was sincere. He knew that he could 
trust him. Flack was in his power, and was anxious to 
conciliate him in every possible way. He knew also 
that a spice of wickedness and peril in the present 
affair would only render it more interesting to his ally. 

“ Well, I will confide in you, Flack,” he said, with an 
appearance of frankness. “ You dare not play me false, 
you know. If you were to attempt it, you’d get your- 
self into a tighter box than you’ve been in yet. I like a 
fellow of your daring, and I mean to keep you in my 
service. But about the girl. You have suspected the 
truth. It’s not an elppement business, but an abduc- 
tion.” 


io8 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ I thought so.” 

“She’s a poor girl,” continued Monk, “ and hasn’t a 
penny in her own right, although her father is a well- 
to-do squire in the neighborhood. I love her and she 
scorns me. I mean to make her marry me. There’s 
the whole story — all you need know at present, at any 
rate. Now mount your box. The morning will soon 
be here. You have been over all these roads during 
the last week, and can surely find your way even in 
this darkness. If you cannot, I can.” 

Monk wrapped up the insensible girl carefully, 
closed the carriage door, and climbed up to the box. 
Flack was up beside him on the instant, and he turned 
the vehicle, cracked his whip, and they went rapidly 
along the road in the direction whence they had come 
at an earlier hour of the same night. 

“ Turn here, Flack,” said Monk, abruptly. “ Our 
course now lies along lonely and unfrequented roads. 
We are sure to meet no one. There are no houses 
near the road for miles. You can drive as fast as the 
horses will go.” 

Flack obeyed the injunction literally. He urged the 
horses to their best speed, and neither of the two men 
spoke for hours. Monk was busy w r ith his schemes, 
and his ally was content to be under orders. 

At last the gray of early dawn began to creep up the 
sky. The horses began to flag. 

They were now in the midst of a bare and lonely 
common, having left the strip of beech wood behind 
them. The fences were broken down upon either side 
of the road, and Flack, turned off from the highway, 
and drove over the common, a mile or more, and came 
at last to a lonely shepherd’s hut, unused at this season 
by the shepherds. Not a chimney was in sight upon 
any side. 


Monk's Care of Bernice. 


109 


Behind the snugly built hut was a rude shed. Flack 
drove into this shed with his carriage, leaped from the 
box, and proceeded to unharness the horses. The} 7 lay 
down in the coarse straw where they had halted. 

Monk alighted and opened the carriage door. Ber- 
nice was in the midst of her artificial slumbers. Monk 
lifted her out, spoke a few words of direction to his 
ally, and started for the hut. It had but one door and 
one window. Monk knocked upon the door thrice sig- 
nificantly, his knock being a signal. There was a rat- 
tling of bolts inside, and then the door opened, and a 
woman's head was protruded. 

“ It is I,” said Monk. “ Let me in.” 

The door opened, and Monk bore his burden into the 
hut. The door clanged shut, and was secured again 
upon the instant. 

The interior of the hut into which Gilbert Monk had 
thus taken the insensible Bernice was humble enough. 
It was only a summer home for the shepherds who 
tended their flocks on the common. There was a capa- 
cious chimney, a yawning fireplace, and a roaring 
wood fire, over which a tea-kettle was hanging. A 
thick steam came hissing and roaring from the kettle. 
In a further corner of the room was a heap of clean 
straw, covered with a white new blanket. 

Monk laid Bernice down upon the simple bed, turning 
her face to the wall that it might not be seen. Then he 
walked to the fire, warming his hands over the blaze, as 
he said : 

“ It’s a cold morning, Mrs. Crowl. I am glad to see 
such lively preparations for breakfast. Did you arrive 
last night ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the woman, in a deep, masculine 
voice. ' “ I walked five miles after dusk to this hut from 
Darnley. I staid here alone all night. The young 


IO 


The Haunted Husband. 


woman is asleep, I see, sir. Did you have any trouble 
with her ?” 

“ None at all. She is drugged. If she wakens, as she 
will by and by, she must be fed and well dosed with the 
doctored brandy. She must be kept under the influ- 
ence of the drug until we arrive at our journey’s end. 
She is as weak as a little child, .and she will not be well 
for months — possibly not for a year. She will need the 
closest care and attention during all that period.” 

He drew one of the wooden stools up to the corner 
of the hearth and seated himself. 

The woman took a shelf from the wall and laid it 
across two stools, and proceeded to use it as a table, 
placing upon it a few dishes, which she produced from 
a basket close at hand. 

This woman, Mrs. Crowl, was of singular appearance. 
She, like Flack, was a client of Scotsby and Newman’s, 
and her past career had been such as to justify Monk in 
placing implicit confidence in her. 

She was not of the same class as Flack. She possessed 
a fair education, and had a natural dignity of manner 
that would have become a lady. She vras dressed 
quietly in black silk. Her collar and cuffs of linen were 
spotless. Her drab hair was neatly and fashionably 
arranged. She would have been taken for a lady any- 
where. 

She was a large, tall woman, of powerful frame and 
massive proportions. Her complexion was fair, some- 
what freckled. Her eyes were of steel blue. She was 
not handsome, nor was she repulsive. She gave one 
the impression of power, both physical and mental. 

Her father had been a respectable tradesman. At 
the age of sixteen she had made a runaway marriage 
with a man named Crowl. Her father had disowned 
her for her rash disobedience, he having forbidden the 


Monk's Care of Bernice . 


1 1 1 


match. Her father had died a few years later, leaving 
his property to a charitable institution. Crowl, who 
had from the first ill-treated his wife, now deliberately 
deserted her when she was ill, leaving her to starve. 
This fate she had barely escaped through the charity 
of her poor neighbors. She had never seen her husband 
since ; had been sewing woman, nursery governess, 
and lady’s maid by turns ; had been arrested for a theft 
of money at her last place, and had only escaped con- 
viction through the energy of her counsel, Messrs. Scots- 
by and Newman. That she had been guilty of the 
theft there was no doubt. She had been betrayed into 
it through her besetting sin — avarice. 

This was the woman whom Gilbert Monk had 
chosen as his chief confederate in the evil course upon 
which he had entered, and he could not have chosen 
more wisely for his purposes. Yet even she was not 
permitted to share his entire confidence. Gilbert 
Monk was too astute to place implicit trust in any 
human being but himself. While .he remained master 
of his own secrets he knew well that they were safe. 

Mrs. Crowl produced a coffee-pot, and proceeded to 
make coffee, more for herself than for another. By 
the time it was made, a triple knock was heard on the 
door, and Flack’s voice was heard demanding admit- 
tance. Mrs. Crowl let him in. He brought a large 
hamper from the carriage, and the woman unpacked it 
and spread a portion of its contents on the bench. 

Monk and his two confederates ate heartily, and 
Flack then went out to feed and water his horses. He 
was gone half an hour or more. When he returned 
Monk was dozing before the fire, the remnants of the 
repast had been put away, and Mrs. Crowl had unshut- 
tered the window, and was looking out through the 


I I 2 


The Haunted Husband . 


dingy panes of glass upon the wide and desolate 
common. Flack bestowed only a glance upon her, 
crept to a corner, and went to sleep on the bare floor. 

That day proved unusually cold for the season. The 
wind blew strong and fierce, penetrating into the cabin 
through a hundred seams and crevices. Mrs. Crowl 
kept up a fierce fire, not suffering it to flag. The cabin 
shook and trembled in every gust. There was snow in 
the air, and a few flakes were tossed hither and thither 
like thistle down. There was no danger that any one 
would be upon the downs that day, and Mrs. Crowl 
rejoiced in the fact. 

A little after noon Gilbert Monk awoke with a start, 
and almost immediately thereafter Bernice stirred upon 
her bed of straw in the far corner, and murmured 
a name. 

Monk crossed the floor to her side and bent over her. 
Her eyes opened ; she recognized him. 

“ Oh, Gilbert,” she said, faintly, her eyes moving rest- 
lessly, “ I have had such a hideous dream ! Was it a 
dream, about the vault, the cof — ” 

“ Hush, Bernice,” said Monk, gently. “ It was no 
dream. It was all true. But you are safe now, and no 
further harm can come to you.” 

“ This is not the vault,” said Bernice, looking up at 
the stnoke-blackened roof, “ nor the church. We were 
in the church, Gilbert. We were on the porch, and then 
I sat down to rest. Where are we ? Is this some cot- 
tage on the way to the Park?” 

“ Yes,” said Monk, without compunction of conscience 
for his falsehoods. “ I have brought you a part of the 
way, and becoming tired under your weight, have 
stopped here to rest. These good people have given us 
shelter and a fire.” 

“You look tired out, miss,” said Mrs. Crowl, darkening 


Monk's Care of Bernice. 113 


the window and approaching the youthful marchioness. 
“ You were fast asleep when the gentleman brought 
you to my door in his arms. Won’t you have a bite or 
sup before you go on ?” 

“ What time is it ?” asked Bernice. 

“ It’s past midnight, miss,” said Mrs. Crowl, glibly. 
l% My man is asleep, as you see yonder. You will soon 
be going on with the gentleman ; won’t you have a cup 
of coffee first.” 

The fragrance of steaming hot coffee saluted the 
girl’s nostrils. A faint hunger awoke within her. 
She arose from the rude bed, pushed back her hood 
from the wan and ghostly face, and tottered forward to 
a seat upon one of the stools. She was deathly weak ; 
she felt dizzy and ill ; she could scarcely command her 
thoughts or her bodily powers. 

“I feel very strangely,” she said, faintly. “I am 
very weak, madam. I will have some coffee, if you 
please.” 

Mrs. Crowl hastened to prepare a cup of coffee, put- 
ting in secretly a strong dose of narcotic poison, as her 
employer had directed her to do. She brought this and 
a plate of daintily sliced cold fowl and sweet biscuits to 
Bernice, who trifled with the food and drank the coffee 
to the dregs. 

“ You’ll feel better presently, Miss,” said Mrs. Crowl, 
removing the dishes. “ The coffee was unusually 
strong and will steady your nerves.” 

“Yes, it does already,” said Bernice, feverishly, look- 
ing at Monk with glittering eyes. “ Don’t you feel 
rested, Gilbert ? Oh, I am so anxious to get hom£. I 
can walk now, if you will allow me. Oh, do let us 
go!” 

“ I am very tired, Bernice. You know I carried you 
in my arms all the way here. We have but this mo- 


The Haunted Husband. 


1 14 


ment arrived, and I am not yet rested. This good 
woman has had just time to boil that coffee. I will 
have a cup, if you please, madam. I am quite chilled 
and tired.’’ 

Mrs. Crowl filled a fresh cup with coffee, and brought 
it, with food, to Monk. Bernice noticed the hamper 
with a faint surprise. One would hardly expect to find 
a closely packed hamper of delicacies and wines in a cot- 
tage or hut of this description. Yet no suspicion of 
anything wrong came to her. Her only thought was to 
be on her way to the Park — her only anxiety was to get 
to her husband, who believed her dead, and who 
mourned for her, refusing to be comforted. 

In her impatience she arose to show Monk how 
strong she was. She sank down again upon the wooden 
stool, utterly strengthless. 

“ I can’t walk, Gilbert,” she said, piteously. “ I am 
so strangely weak. The fever must have taken all my 
strength. Oh, Gilbert, are you not almost rested ? 
You shall rest when you get to the Park. Dear Gilbert, 
I want to get home — to Roy — to my own rooms — my 
own bed. I will make myself as light as possible, only 
take me home.” 

She fairly sobbed in her pitiful pleading, and reach- 
ing out her thin, claw-like fingers, she clung to him in 
agonized beseeching. 

“ Directly, Bernice,” said Monk, drinking his coffee. 
“ Tam almost ready. I am getting rested.” 

Bernice sighed heavily, and fixed her piteous gaze 
upon Monk. He was uneasy under it, and finished his 
meal mechanically, pondering what excuses he should 
make to her to account for his further stay at the hut. 
He at last devised a manner of excuse, and was about 
to utter it, when he noticed that the girl’s head had 


Monk's Care of Bernice . 


1 r 5 


drooped, and that her eyes were closing again in 
slumber. 

He waited a few moments in silence until her breath- 
ing testified to her slumbers, and then he said : 

“ She is disposed of, Mrs. Crowl. That narcotic 
will stand our friend throughout the journey. She will 
sleep now till to-morrow morning.’' 

He arose and carried Bernice back to the bed on 
which she had slept all the morning. Then he went 
out to feed and care for the horses. He was absent an 
hour, and when he returned, brought with him the chill 
air of the outer world. There were flakes of snow on 
his coat, hair and beard. He. had his valise in his 
hand. 

Flack was still asleep. Disregarding the presence of 
Mrs. Crowl, who retired to the window, Monk opened 
his valise and took out his dressing-case, which was 
well filled with bottles of colored liquids and dyes. He 
selected a bottle and camel’s hair pencils, and with the 
skill of an artist began to paint dark circles under his 
eyes, and lines along his nose and on his cheeks, and 
wrinkles across his forehead. He did not shave his full 
beard, nor dye it, yet the change in him was so great 
that even Sylvia Monk would have been puzzled to 
recognize him at the first glance. He looked thirty 
years older than he had ten minutes before. 

When he had finished he called to Mrs. Crowl. The 
woman was full of astonishment at the transformation 
he had effected and was loud in her praises of his skill. 

Flack awakened presently and was served with 
food. Monk announced that the horses were in fine 
condition, and ordered the carriage to be in readiness 
at dusk. The command was obeyed. 

The night proved chilly, but not too tempestuous for 
traveling. They regained the public road without diffi- 


The H diluted Husband. 


1 16 


culty, resumed their course to the eastward, and 
traveled all that night. Monk had his course marked 
out upon a small pocket map. He consulted it soon 
after daybreak. 

“ We must be near the hamlet of Pollock,” he said. 

“ There is a very good inn there, kept by a doting 
octogenarian and his bustling wife. We shall stop 
there to-day. You have both received full instructions, 
and I shall expect you to adhere to them literally. 
Flack, you had better put on your big, false red beard. 
It will half cover your face and disguise you com- 
pletely.” 

Flack put his hand under the driver’s seat and found 
his valise. He opened it and produced the beard 
alluded to, put it on, and was satisfied with the dis- 
guise it afforded. 

About nine o’clock of the dark morning, the jaded 
horses and travel -stained vehicle entered the narrow, 
grass-grown street of the little hamlet of Pollock, 
which- was a score of miles away from any railway 
station. Flack drove boldly to the little inn, and into 
the court-yard. 

The mistress of the hotel, with hostler, stable *boy, 
and bar-maid, appeared upon the stone flagging, all 
full of curiosity in regard to the strangers, and eager 
to assist them to alight. 

Gilbert Monk slowly alighted from the box, in his 
character of elderly gentleman, and raised his hat to 
the portly inn mistress, saying : 

“ You are the proprietress of the inn, I take it, 
madam. My name is Brown. Mr. Brown, of Brown 
Hall, Devon. The lady within is Mrs. Brown, my 
sister-in-law, a widow. The young lady is my daughter 
who is nearly dead of consumption. She has been to 
the east coast for her health, but has failed rapidly, and 


Monk's Care of Bernice. 


1 17 


we are taking her home by easy stages to Devon. We 
desire your best rooms until to-morrow; morning, when 
we must resume our sad journey. My daughter is 
quite helpless, and when awake is delirious. We are 
taking her home to die.” 

The inn mistress was shocked, and full of commisera- 
tion. Monk lifted out Bernice’s light figure. The girl’s 
face had been covered with a vail by Mrs. Crowl. The 
inn mistress preceded her guests up to the public 
parlor, and rooms were immediately put in readiness 
for the use of the new-comers. A comfortable parlor 
with two bedrooms connecting, all three apartments 
warmed by grate fires, were made ready, and the new- 
comers took possession of them. 

Monk’s room opened off the cozy little parlor on one 
side, and upon the other side of the parlor was the airy 
bedroom, with two beds, that had been assigned to 
Bernice and Mrs. Crowl. The young marchioness was 
undressed by her attendant, and put in her warm bed. 
The two conspirators then had their breakfast in the 
private parlor, Flack being served in the kitchen. 

Monk and Mrs. Crowl were still, at their breakfast 
when the inn mistress came up to inquire if she could 
do anything for the poor young lady, and desiring to 
know what she could do for her. 

“ She would like some chicken broth,” said Mrs. Crowl. 
“ Her appetite is very poor. She lives almost entirely 
upon stimulants, poor dear ! and they seem to affect 
her intellect. She has the most horrible ideas. Her 
mind somehow seems to revel in the ghastly and unreal. 
She is very low, and keeps her bed for the most part. I 
fear we shall hardly get her home alive.” 

The inn-keeper was about to reply, when the door of 
the bedroom opened, and Bernice, wan and spectral, 
with great burning eyes, stood upon the threshold. 



CHAPTER IX. 

A PLAUSIBLE EXPLANATION. 

Fo.r a moment a dead silence reigned in the little inn 
parlor, during which the e)*es of Gilbert Monk, of Mrs. 
Crowl, and of the inn mistress were fixed upon the wan 
young face of Bernice, as she stood in the doorway, 
wrapped from head to foot in the long black cloak with 
which Monk had provided her, and looking in upon them 
with a tremulous and uncertain eagerness of gaze. The 
eyes of the inn mistress were full of curiosity ; those of 
Gilbert Monk and Mrs. Crowl were full of anxiety and 
dread. They had miscalculated the strength of the last 
dose administered to the young marchioness. They had 
not expected her to awaken so soon. They trembled 
lest her first words should arouse the suspicions of their 
hostess. Yet Gilbert Monk did not lose his presence of 
mind. He made a gesture to Mrs. Crowl, who arose 
quietly and approached Bernice. 

Lady Chetwynd waved her back with a feeble move- 
ment. There was a vague look in the girl’s face, a weak- 
ness and wavering in the expression of the dusky eyes, 
that declared that the influence of the narcotic still lin- 
gered. She was not broad awake, nor was she alive to 
her whereabouts. There was a oressure still upon her 
brain the weight of an intolerable sleepiness and fatigue. 
[n8] 


A Plausible Explanation . 119 


She was nearly in the condition of a somnambulist, and 
was conscious only of a vague longing, an irresistible 
yearning for her young husband. Everything else — her 
present surroundings, the singular presence of Mrs* 
Crowl — were not even thought of in her present mental 
chaos. 

“ Where is Roy ?” she asked, in a weak voice, thrill- 
ing with alarm. “ I want Roy. I want to go home ! 
Take me home — now !” 

“ Yes, dear,” said Gilbert Monk, assuming a paternal 
air, “we are going home as fast as possible — ” 

The girl started and looked at him in a faint wonder 
and surprise. 

“That is Gilbert's voice,” she murmured, “but the 
face is not Gilbert’s — it is older than Gilbert’s — ” 

“ Poor child !” sighed Monk in an undertone. “ Her 
mind wanders. She is talking of her brother now.” 

Mrs. Crowl laid her hand gently upon the arm of the 
youthful marchioness, who, puzzled and bewildered, 
retreated before her touch. As the slender, black - 
robed figure disappeared into the bedroom, Mrs. 
Crowl followed and locked the door on the inner side, 
remaining with Bernice. 

“ It’s a sad thing to see a girl so young so near her 
end,” said the inn mistress, wiping her eyes. “ I’ll 
go down and order the young lady’s broth at once, sir. 
And whatever I can do, while you remain to better the 
young lady, I shall be glad to do.” 

She courtesied and took her leave. When she 
departed Mrs. Crowl opened the door, emerging into 
the parlor. 

“ The young lady is asleep again,” she announced. 
“ I shall guard against such happenings in the future. 
She will awaken again soon, I think, and must then 
have her breakfast. I see no way to manage her 


I 20 


The Haunted Husband ’ 


except to keep her continually under the influence of 
narcotics.” 

“ I don't like to do that,” said Monk, thoughtfully. 
“ She must awaken now and then to take food, or she 
will die. When she arouses again I will see her.” 

About an hour after this the inn mistress sent up a 
tempting little breakfast for the supposed invalid. Mrs. 
Crowl set the tray on the hearth, and went softly into 
the inner room too look after Bernice. The girl was 
turning restlessly on her pillow, and at the sound of 
cautious movements opened her eyes and was awake. 

“ Do you feel better, Miss !” asked Mrs. Crowl, in a 
soothing voice, leaning over her. 

“ Why, this is not the cottage !” said Bernice, with a 
glance of surprise at the papered walls and comfortable 
bed ; “ and it is not the Park ! Where am I ?” 

“At a little country inn,” replied Mrs. Crowl, truth- 
fully enough. “ I have your breakfast ready for you. 
Mr. Monk is in the parlor outside, and he will explain 
everything to you as soon as you have taken food.” 

“ But I should be at home now,” said the girl. 
“ Where is Roy ? I don’t understand why I should be 
at an inn. I must see Gilbert immediately.” 

“ Yes, Miss,” said Mrs. Crowl, quietly but firmly ; 
“ but you must have your breakfast first, so that you 
will be strong for the interview ; and you must be 
dressed, too. You cannot see Mr. Monk in your night- 
dress.” 

Bernice regarded the elaborately trimmed night robe 
she wore, but she made no comment upon it. She 
began to feel that she was breathing an air of mystery, 
but she was still too weak to attempt to probe it. 

Mrs. Crowl brought her breakfast to her, and she ate 
in an utter silence, but with reviving appetite. After 
the meal she feel asleep again through utter weariness, 


A Plausible Explanation. 


I 2 I 


and did not awaken until late in the afternoon. Then 
her dinner was served to her, and afterward she insisted, 
in a pretty, peremptory way, upon rising and being 
dressed. Mrs. Crowl brushed out the girl’s long crink- 
ling mass of purple-black hair, letting it stream over 
her shoulders as she had always worn it. One by one 
the girl’s garments were put on ; not those she had 
worn in her coffin, but others as fine and delicate and 
richly trimmed, which Mrs. Crowl had procured in Lon- 
don for the use of Bernice before having seen her. 

The long white silk burial robe had been packed 
away with the remainder of the burial garments, and 
Mrs. Crowl produced a soft, gray cashmere robe, made 
in a fashionable style, and put it upon her young 
charge. 

“ Now you don’t look so much like a corpse, Miss,” 
she said, cheerfully. “ That white ruffle about your 
neck is all the white you want near a face so colorless 
as yours. Wait till I tie this black ribbon around your 
neck below the ruffle. There, that will do. Now let 
me take you into the sitting-room, where Mr. Monk will 
explain everything to you.” 

She lifted the young peeress in her arms, and carried 
her into the outer room, as if she had been a child. 
There was a bright fire in the little parlor, and a chintz- 
covered couch was drawn up before it. Mrs. Crowl 
laid Bernice upon this couch, propped up her head with 
pillows, laid a bright traveling rug over her knees, and 
went back into the bed-room as Monk quitted the 
window at which he had been standing and came to 
greet his victim. 

“ My dear Bernice,” he said, taking her thin hand in 
his, “ I am glad to see you so much better. I have 
been very anxious about you. Your experience has 


122 


The Haunted Husband. 


been so terrible that I feared you would be seriously 
ill.” 

“ It seems as if I had been having a terrible dream 
since you rescued me from the church, Gilbert. You 
started to take me home, I know, and I fell asleep in 
the church porch. When I awakened I was in a way- 
side hut near Chetwynd Park. I slept again, and have 
awakened here at a way-side inn. I can’t understand 
it. You said you would take me home. It is daylight 
now, and we should have been home long before day- 
break. Oh, Gilbert, are you not going to take me to 
Roy ? Or are you not going to send for him to come 
to me ? I am wild with impatience to see him. Why, 
he is mourning for me as dead ! I must get to him. 
What does all this delay mean ?” 

Her thin, sharpened features worked with her agita- 
tion and distress. She made a motion to arise. 

Monk sat down beside her, and took her fluttering 
hand. 

“ Be calm, Bernice,” he said, in a tone meant to be 
reassuring. “ Can you not trust me ? Did I not rescue 
you from your tomb when your own husband had left 
you as dead ? Can you not realize that I am your true 
friend, your brother ? Be brave, Bernice. Shall I tell 
you why I have not taken you home ?” 

“ Roy is not dead ?” 

“ No, no. He is well and safe. The truth is, Bernice, 
he took the first train to London after your burial. He 
went the same night — before I rescued you. I dared 
not tell you before, lest the disappointment and the 
delay in seeing him would work you mischief.” 

“ Gone to London ?” 

“ Yes. He was overcome with grief, and went away 
for a change. He want with his relatives, who were 
obliged to return to town immediately. Sylvia accom- 


A Plausible Explanation . 


123 


panied him to town, and will visit Chetwynd’s aunt. 
The Park is in the charge of servants. I would have taken 
you there, or to Mr. Sanders’s house, but in either case 
rumors of your restoration to life would get about, and 
might reach Chetwynd’s ears before we could break the 
news carefully to him.” 

“ Yes, that is true,” said Bernice, sighing. 

“ And that is not all. You are still very feeble. I 
have not dared to risk exciting you too soon, lest we 
lose you again, and forever. Believe me, Bernice, I have 
acted for the best. And, to tell you the truth, I could 
not have done otherwise, since I do not know Chetwynd’s 
address, and must go up to town to search for him. I 
must break the glad tidings to him myself. Bernice, 
your safety must be my first consideration. I will find 
a. proper refuge for you, and then I will leave you in 
safety while I search for Chetwynd, who may have gone 
to the further end of England with his relatives, for 
aught I know.” 

Bernice was too weak to combat Monk’s arguments, 
had she differed in opinion with him. She believed 
herself in safe hands. Had not Gilbert Monk rescued 
her from her very sepulchre ? And as he had saved 
her life, would he not, of course, hasten to restore her 
to her husband at the earliest possible moment ? She 
had an implicit confidence in him, and implicit reliance 
upon him. Still, her disappointment in not being 
restored to the marquis at once was almost more than 
she could bear. 

“ Where can you take me, Gilbert ?” she asked, pres- 
ently. “ Not to the • rector’s house. The rector is 
infirm, you know, and a widower. It is not best, you 
think, to take me to the bailiff’s house. He has a fam- 
ily of children, and I should be besieged with visitors 
and questionings before Roy could come. And I dread 


124 


The Haunted Husband. 


going to the park, if only servants are there. Where 
can I go ?” 

“ I have a little place on the Welsh coast,” said Monk, 
hesitatingly. “ I might take you there. It is secluded 
and I should not fear to leave you there with Mrs. 
Crowl while I seek for Chetwynd. The spot is roman- 
tic beyond description. You and Roy could spend 
your second honeymoon there, and remain until you are 
entirely recovered, and until the nine days’ wonder to 
be excited by your resuscitation shall have died away. 
You will like to be secluded for a little, I am sure ; 
hidden away from coarsely staring eyes and wondering 
faces. It will be a hard trial for you to go back to 
the Park while the sensation of your marvellous 
restoration is in full vigor.” 

Bernice shuddered, and shrank back among her 
pillows. 

“ I — I don’t think I could bear it,” she said, shrink- 
ingly. “ I am too weak to bear the gossip and staring, 
Gilbert. I would like to hide away in your lonely 
house. Take me there, Gilbert, and then find Roy and 
bring him to me. Roy never told me that you had a 
house of your own, Gilbert.” 

“ It is not my own,” acknowledged Monk. “ It is one 
I hired lately, after your marriage. I got it at a merely 
nominal rent, and so took it. You see, Bernice, I 
fancied that I should be driven out of Chetwynd Park 
by the new Lady Chetwynd, and that it behooved me 
to find new quarters. I believe I had a fancy to set up 
a bachelor’s hall in Cardiganshire. My funds are 
meagre, you know, and any home within range of my 
means must necessarily be out of the world. It’s a long 
journey, but I think it would be the best place to take 
you. Indeed, I know of no other place.” 

“ Then take me there, Gilbert. But if the journey is 


A Plausible Explanation . 


i*5 


long-, can we not go by rail ? I can bear the fatigue, 
Gilbert, and I am so impatient and anxious.” 

“ I could secure a compartment to ourselves,” said 
Monk, musingly. “ I could telegraph to the old Welsh 
housekeeper to have things in readiness for our arrival. 
When I expected to go there, I sent up a lot of supplies 
for household consumption, and, no doubt, old Elspie 
could make us comfortable after a rude fashion. If 
you are willing, Bernice, we will journey on in the 
morning by rail.” 

Bernice assented eagerly. Monk talked with her an 
hour or more, and then she closed her eyes in very 
weariness. She was not asleep. Monk knew it by the 
pained expression about the sorrowful mouth, by the 
spasmodic contraction of her brows, and by the sup- 
pressed agitation of her features. She was suffering 
acutely, but it was not physical pain. Monk left her to 
her anguish, and walked again to the window and 
looked out. 

The result of this momentous interview may be told 
in a few words. 

Bernice, believing herself in the hands of friends, too 
weak to reason clearly, or to fathom Monk’s sinister 
motives, or even to suspect there existence, too frank 
and guileness herself to suspect guile in others, yielded 
herself to Monk’s guardianship without a murmur, and 
was eager to accompany him to his “ house on the Welsh 
coast.” And thither they went, as fast as steam and 
horses could carry them. 

On reaching the desolate castle, in the dead of night, 
Monk opened the carriage door, and said : 

“ We are at our journey’s end, Bernice.” And there 
was a sinister joy in his eyes, and sinister exultation in 
his voice. “ We are at Mawr Castle,” 


126 


The Haunted Husband. 


Upon that very evening on which the rescued young 
marchioness arrived in Wales, Lord Chetwynd sat in 
her boudoir at Chetwynd Park. He was alone. The 
curtains were lowered over the windows, shutting out 
the night. The lights burned mellowly in the cluster- 
ing, tinted globes of the gasalier. The fire burned 
cheerfully in the grate. The piano was open, and a 
sheet of music was upon the rack, as Bernice had left 
it. There was an arm-chair and a dainty little work- 
table in the recessed window, just as she had arisen 
from them. Before the hearth was her writing-table as 
she had last used it. Lord Chetwynd was opening it 
now with tender, reverent fingers. 

In the three or four days that had elapsed since the 
funeral of Bernice he had changed wofully. His fair, 
effeminate face was worn with sorrow. His eyes, which 
at times were wont to flash like polished steel in the 
sunlight, were dull now, and hollow and sunken. They 
had shed many tears of late. 

The key was in the little inlaid desk. The marquis 
pushed back the circular front, and the contents of the 
desk were revealed. Here were Bernice’s private 
papers — few enough, and unimportant at best. No let- 
ters — she had never received one — but her diary, with 
gold clasps and lock and key, were hidden here like 
some great treasure. Chetwynd had taken the key of 
the little volume from his young wife’s watch-chain, 
and he opened the book. 

It was only a record of her life since leaving St. Kilda. 
It had been meant for no eyes save her own, and was a 
revelation of her pure and trusting nature, of her noble 
soul, of her worshipping love for her husband. It was 
full of genius, and sparkled with wit and humor. It 
was grave, thoughtful, tender and loving. It was to 
Chetwynd a message from the grave. 


A Plausible Explanation . 


127 


He read it on his knees, half blinded by his tears, 
breaking now and then into terrible sobs. 

“ My pure little girl ! My true wife !” he moaned. 
“ So young, so noble, so pure, so full of rare genius ! 
Dead ! Cut down like some worthless weed in the very 
spring-time of her youth. Oh, Bernice ! Bernice !” 

The tears we all have shed over our beloved dead 
came to ease his breaking heart. He wept long and 
unrestrainedly. Then he finished reading the little 
book, being still upon his knees. There were allusions 
to Sylvia and Gilbert Monk, full of affection and kindly 
interest. There was a description of Sylvia’s beauty, 
and references to her sisterly kindness. There were 
paragraphs about the Gwellans and St. Kilda, anecdotes 
of Fifine, but not one word concerning what Bernice 
had been told concerning the former betrothal between 
Sylvia and Lord Chetwynd. 

When he had finished reading the tiny volume, the 
young marquis locked it, and put it in an inner pocket 
of his coat. 

“ I shall place it in the library safe,” he said to him- 
self. “ It is too precious to be left unguarded. And 
this is all ?” 

It was nearly all. There was a lock of Lord Chet- 
wynd’s hair, labelled in tiny letters, “ My darling’s 
hair there were several spirited pencil sketches, 
attempts at his lordship’s portrait, but nothing more. 
Bernice’s life had held no secrets, no mystery beyond 
that mystery of her parentage. 

The young marquis sat long at the little desk, in the 
gleam of the fire, in the mellow light of the gas, in the 
scarlet glow of the draperies. He had not been in this 
room since the day on which his wife was supposed to 
have died, and now it seemed to him that her presence 
Still pervaded the room she had loved. 


128 


The Haunted Husband. 


He had grown calm again, but with the calmness of 
an infinite despair, when a gentle knock came upon the 
door. His pale cheeks flushed with resentment at the 
intrusion* upon this hour sacred to him. He was about 
to arise to send away his visitor, when the door softly 
opened, and Sylvia Monk glided like a beautiful snake, 
into his presence. 

She was dressed in deep mourning, with crape cover- 
ing her trailing robe of bombazine, and with jet orna- 
ments in her ears. • She wore a long jet necklace, to 
which was appended a black cross, giving her the look 
of a sister of charity. There was a frill of white at her 
throat. Her swarthy skin looked more swarthy than 
usual, and the vivid crimson on her cheeks stood in 
relief, as if painted upon them. Her dress was un- 
becoming, but she was by no means so hideous in her 
mourning garments as she had expected. Her heavy 
eyelids were drooping above her eyes of dull blackness, 
but the red gleam that betokened thoughts of evil was 
in their gloomy depths. 

She came toward the marquis, with a slow, undulat- 
ing grace, as if frightened at her own temerity, yet not 
daring to retreat. His lordship arched his brows in 
grave questioning. • 

“Oh, Roy !” cried out Miss Monk, in a sort of vehement 
tenderness. “ They told me you were in here — for the 
first time since — since — And I have been standing 
outside the door in an agony, fearing that you would 
do yourself an injury. At last I could bear the sus- 
pense no longer. Oh, Roy, you will not commit sui- 
cide ?” 

Lord Chetwynd looked surprised. 

“ I am no coward to shirk the burden the Lord has 
laid upon me, Sylvia,” he said very gravely, his voice 
tremulous with passionate grief. “I am sick of mv 


















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A Plausible Explanation. 129 


life. The joy has gone from it forever. I cannot 
learn to say ‘ The Lord’s will be done.’ She was all 
I had, Sylvia, my one ewe lamb ! No other being in 
the whole world understood me as she did. She was 
my better self — my guardian angel ! And I have lost 
her !” 

His stern lips quivered in an uncontrollable anguish! 

The false woman whose hand had stricken the light 
and beauty from his life, who had robbed him of his 
wife, blanched a little, and then came nearer to him. 

“ Oh, Roy,” she said, “ you do not suffer alone. I 
loved Bernice, too. She crept into my very heart dur- 
ing her brief stay with us. She was an angel, and she 
has gone to dwell with her kindred. My poor Roy, my 
heart bleeds for you. Here, in the room where she 
used to sit, let me comfort you.” 

“ It seems to me as if she were near us, Sylvia. She 
promised, when she was dying to be my guardian 
angel, if she were permitted. I believe she is my 
guardian angel now — that she is here beside us at this 
moment.” 

Sylvia started and darted a glance about her of fear- 
ful inquiry. Her face grew livid in a sudden terror. 
She shrank within herself. 

“ I — I don’t think she is here !” she said, huskily. 

“ I hope and pray that she is,” said Lord Chetwynd. 
“I hope that she reads my heart like an open book, 
that my soul is laid bare to her gaze, that she knows all 
my love and agony and despair ! If God has permitted 
her to return to guide me, rest assured, Sylvia, that she 
reads us thoroughly, that she knows us at last 
through and through, that our souls are laid bare to 
her. The thought is sweet—” 

Miss Monk’s teeth chattered. A horrible fear came 


130 


The Haunted Husband. 


upon her. Her superstitions were all alive. She sent 
peering glances behind the furniture and into the dis- 
tant corners. She quailed at the thought that perhaps 
Bernice now knew of her guilt, ahd meant to haunt her 
evermore. 

“ Your fancies are morbid, Roy,” said Miss Monk, in 
a sickly voice. “ You frighten me, and set my nerves 
all quivering. I am almost afraid to remain here. The 
doctor must give you a tonic to steady your nerves.” 

‘•You are very kind, Sylvia,” he said. “Bernice 
loved you. I do not forget. You gave brightness to 
her life here. She never had a girl friend before. I 
want the doors of these rooms kept locked, and you 
must keep the keys, Sylvia. Sometimes you must come 
in here and dust her books and things, but leave every- 
thing as when her hands last touched it. In the dress- 
ing-room one of her little slippers lies on the floor as 
she cast it off on the night she was taken with her chill. 
In her pin-cushion she thrust her brooch. Leave them 
so. Do not move them, not even to dust them. Every- 
thing must be as she left it.” 

“Yes, Roy. You are going to change your rooms, 
then ?” 

“ I am going away, Sylvia. I cannot remain here while 
my wound is fresh. I start a dozen times each day, 
fancying that I hear her voice calling me, or her step 
on the stair — just as she prophesied, Sylvia. I can 
never learn resignation here, when I am continually 
reminded of the joys I have known, but shall know no 
more. I have talked with the bailiff to-day, and shall 
leave things in his hands as during the summer. I beg 
you to remain at Chetwynd Park. It is your home, 
Sylvia. The servants will respect your authority, and 
you will be mistress.” 

“ Shall you go in your yacht ?” 


A Plausible Explanation. 


131 


“No. I last shared its state-room with her. I am 
going on to the Continent, I know not where. 1 am full 
of unrest. I may go to Egypt, to Syria, to Africa. 
When I shall have learned to bear my sorrow with 
patience — perhaps sooner — I will come back. I shall 
do as my demon of unrest impels me.” 

Miss Monk reflected that Lord Chetwynd’s absence 
would relieve her from the necessity of feigning a grief 
she did not feel. He would be likely to forget Bernice 
sooner among the romantic scenes of a foreign land. 
Upon the whole, it was best that he should go. When 
he should return, she would look fresh to him. And 
then she could venture to remind him of Bernice’s aspir- 
ations for his union with Miss Monk, if he showed luke- 
warmness in his wooing, and all would go well, and her 
most brilliant hopes would in due time be realized. She 
felt sure of her ultimate victory, and so signified her 
approval of his resolve to travel. 

“ I shall not see you in the morning, Sylvia,” said the 
marquis, gravely. “ Mrs. Skewer will wait upon me at 
breakfast. I will say good-bye to you now.” 

He arose, and she imitated his example. He held 
out his hand to her. She seized upon it, pressed it, and 
suddenly raised it to her lips. The next moment, as if 
covered with confusion, and choking with sobs, she 
swept like a gilded snake from the room. 

Lord Chetwynd spent the night in his young wife’s 
rooms. He did not sleep. He walked the floor, wept, 
and prayed, and morning found him haggard and pale 
and hollow-eyed, fitter for a sick-bed than a journey. 

His valet had packed the marquis’s travelling bag. 
The man called his lordship soon after daybreak, and 
the young lord went to his dressing-room and made his 
toilet. Then he descended to the breakfast-room. 

The pretty apartment was bright and cheerful with a 


1 3 2 


The Haunted Husband. 


glowing fire, snowy napery, glittering crystal and sil- 
ver, and daintiest painted Sevres porcelain. It was not 
Mrs. Skewer who presided at the coffee-urn, but Sylvia 
Monk, graceful, sorrowing, her swarthy beauty height- 
ened by a few artful touches, a tremulous smile on her 
red lips. Lord Chetwynd looked surprised, but greeted 
her kindly, and took his place at the table. 

The meal was eaten nearly in silence. The marquis 
drank his coffee, leaving all else untouched. He arose 
abruptly, muttered something in a choked voice, and 
held out his hand in farewell. 

“ I am going to the door with you, Roy,” said Sylvia, 
tenderly. 

The marquis shook hands with his weeping butler 
and housekeeper, and broke away without a word. Syl- 
via Monk followed him out to the carriage porch. His 
lordship’s valet, the son of one of his tenants, was upon 
the box with the driver. Mr. Sanders, the bailiff, hat 
in hand, was waiting, on the steps, intending to accom- 
pany his lordship to Eastbourne. 

For the last time Chetwynd held out his hand to 
Sylvia. 

“ I go,” he said, brokenly. “ Henceforth, till peace 
visits my heart, I am an exile from the home of my 
fathers. God bless you, Sylvia. A last good bye.” 

He wrung her hand, but made no movement to kiss 
her. 

“ Good-bye, Roy. May the peace you desire come to 
you in the course of your wanderings. It will come. 
No one can grieve always. I shall expect you back in 
a single year. Remember, Roy, in a single year. But 
whether you come in one year, Roy, or in ten years — 
whether sooner or later — you will find me waiting for 
you.” 


Bernice at Mazur Castle . 


T 33 


And with those words ringing in his ears, Roy, Mar- 
quis of Chetwynd, turned his back upon his home and 
his country, and went wandering far in foreign lands. 


CHAPTER X. 

BERNICE AT MAWR CASTLE. 

Mawr Castle, the retreat to which Gilbert Monk had 
brought the youthful Marchioness of Chetwynd, was a 
grim old stronghold of feudal times, throned upon a 
high and lonely rock overlooking the ocean. The walls 
were in ruins, the moat was nearly filled with stones 
and fallen buttresses, and the portcullis had rusted in 
its rest with centuries of disuse. 

The castle had been uninhabited for years, save that 
one old woman found shelter in its walls. Gilbert 
Monk had visited the spot in a tour of Wales, and had 
remembered it as the loneliest, wildest scene his eyes 
had ever rested upon. It had been left in the charge 
of an old retainer of the family, who lived in a little 
hamlet by the sea, a mile below ; and Monk, in his 
character of the father of an invalid daughter, had hired 
the castle of this person at a merely nominal rent for 
two years’ occupancy. 

It was, therefore, with the air of a landed proprietor, 
or lord of the manor, that Gilbert Monk lifted Bernice 
i in his arms and carried her toward the grim and 
ruined pile. Mrs. Crowl followed her employer in 
silence. The driver of the carriage, having made 
inquiries, drove around the broken walls to an old 


134 


The Haunted Husband. 


stone stable on the mountain side, and here stalled his 
horses. 

Gilbert Monk carefully picked his way onward, his 
light burden in his arms, and guided now by a gleam 
of light that burst suddenly from an open doorway 
many rods in advance. He shouted loudly and a feeble 
response came to him. Then an old woman appeared 
in the doorway, holding her light above her head, and 
waving it slowly to and fro. 

Thus guided, Monk and Mrs. Crow! safely completed 
their journey through the ruins, and arrived at the 
threshold upon which the old resident of Mawr Castle 
was standing. 

“ Is it the Englishman ?” asked the old woman. “ I 
see it is. You are welcome, sir. It’s a hard walk 
across those stones, but last night was a wild night, sir, 
and the ivied wall fell in. You can easily pick your 
way by daylight, though, sir.” 

She retreated into the room with her light. The 
new-comers followed her, finding themselves in a great 
old-fashioned kitchen, with a stone floor, several tall, 
arched windows, a yawning fireplace, some quaint, 
high-backed wooden settles, and a dresser, whose 
shelves displayed utensils of brass and copper burn- 
ished like mirrors. There was a fire on the hearth, 
and Monk laid Bernice down upon a settle before it. 

The old woman stirred the fire to a brighter blaze. 

She was a fitting guardian for the ancient ruin, hav- 
ing also seen her best days. She was very old, and her 
thin figure was bowed, but there was a strong vitality 
.within her still. Her eyes were keen and bright. Her 
hair, white as snow, was smoothy brushed under a high 
white cap of .spotless whiteness. She walked with a 
staff, but she did not lean upon it. She was Welsh, 
and had lived all her life in the old castle. She could 


Bernice at M'awr Castle. 


135 


remember, when, in her young days, gayety and bright- 
ness dwelt in those damp old rooms. But the glory of 
the Penrhynns was past ; the daughters were married 
and gone ; and the impoverished heir, an elderly man, 
was in distant India, carving his fortune with his sword. 
All these changes had wrought lines and wrinkles upon 
Elspie’s aged face, but all her honest sorrow could not 
dim the kindly expression of her features. 

“The young lady is tired,” said Monk, briefly, 
noting the pitying look bestowed upon the young 
peeress by the ancient peasant woman. “ We have 
travelled since before daybreak, and she is ill. You 
seem to have expected us. Are our rooms ready ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the woman, in a strongly accented 
voice. “ The furniture you sent here has been arranged 
as you directed. The man Flack assisted me. There 
have been fires in your rooms every day, to try out the 
damp. It’s thirty years since them rooms were slept in. 
There arefires in them now. I have been all ready for 
you since yesterday.” 

“Very well,” said Monk, approvingly. “ We will go 
up to our rooms immediate^. Take up your light and 
show us the way. I will carry the young lady, who is 
too tired to walk. Our driver will soon be in, and you 
must prepare him a hot supper. We are all hungry 
and chilled.” 

The old woman took up her candle and conducted 
I the new-comers into a damp stone passage, up a flight 
| of rickety stone steps to the drawing-room floor. The 
rooms upon the floor above this leaked, and were damp, 
mouldy and unwholesome. In fact, the few habitable 
rooms were upon this floor, and old Elspie hastened to 
exhibit them. 

The state drawing-room had not been used for thirty 
years and was dismantled. The little furniture that 


The Haunted Husband. 


136 


remained indecent preservation had been gathered into 
a little square parlor overlooking the sea. The great 
blazing fire, and the great, wide, uncurtained window, 
gave the room a cheerful aspect. 

Beyond the parlor were Bernice’s private apartments, 
all warmed with hot fires. The dressing-room and bed- 
room were newly and neatly furnished. Beyond the 
bedroom of Lady Chetwynd, and connected with it by 
a door, was a second bedroom, designed for the use of 
Mrs. Growl. 

Monk’s room was at some distance from these, down 
the long hall and a second corridor. His room had 
once been a morning-room, or private boudoir, and was 
still in tolerable preservation. 

Monk deposited his burden upon a sofa in the parlor, 
and the girl stirred feebly, and spoke for the first time 
since her arrival at the castle. 

“I am not hungry — only tired,” she said, wearily. 
“ Let me go to my room.” 

“ Your dressing-room is next to this, Miss,” said Mrs. 
Crowl, “ and your bedroom is beyond. I’ll carry you to 
your room myself.” 

She suited the action to the word. She undressed 
Bernice tenderly, and ensconced her in the warm, well- 
aired bed, with its furnishings of dainty linen and soft 
blankets. Lady Chetwynd fell asleep upon the instant. 
Mrs. Crowl took up the candle and explored the two 
rooms. Having satisfied her curiosity, she returned to 
the parlor. The round table had been spread, during 
her absence, with a supper. 

“ I shall leave here in the morning, in the carriage 
we came in,” said Gilbert Monk. “ I will return within 
a week, and bring with me books, a few engravings, 
and some music. There is a cottage piano here. I 
sent it up from town. Let Flack come to meet me at 


Bernice at Mawr Castle. 


137 


Carnarvon, on the evening of Monday next. I’ll ride 
home in my own carriage, seeing I own one. I have 
used my money lavishly lately, and my funds are run- 
ning low. I will replenish my purse while I am away.” 

He finished his supper, and went to his own distant 
room. Mrs. Crowl retired to her own room, adjoining 
that of Lady Chetwynd. 

The next morning breakfast was served in the little 
parlor, which was bright and cozy by daylight. 

Monk was first in the room, and paced to and fro 
impatiently, looking frequently at his watch. He had 
paused at the immense window to watch a fishing 
smack on the billows, when Mrs. Crowl entered with 
the young marchioness. 

Monk sprang forward to meet her. He had washed 
off the paint upon his face, and looked as boyish as 
formerly. Bernice noticed the change in him with a 
vague sense of relief. 

She was very wan and pale still ; very weak and full 
of trembling ; but she looked better than she had done 
since her rescue from the burial vault. She held out 
her thin, brown hand to Monk, who seized upon it, 
pressing it fervently. 

“ I am glad to see you looking so like yourself, Ber- 
nice,” he exclaimed. “I shall have less anxiety about 
you during my absence. I start this morning for Lon- 
don, there to begin my search for Roy. I shall bring 
him back with me. Will you promise to be content 
while I am gone — to get strong and well as possible ? 
I want to present to Roy, not a ghostly wife, with the 
pallor of the tomb upon her, but a wife who is happy, 
and flushed with returning health. He will deem you 
doubly restored to him then.” 

“ I will try to get strong, Gilbert,” said the youthful 
peeress, sinking into the chair to which he had led her. 


138 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ You are very good to me, and I am very grateful. 
Mrs. Crowl will take good care of me in your absence, 
and I will pray every hour for your safe and speedy 
return.” 

I shall come as soon as I can, Bernice. I shall 
know no rest until I return. You will not be troubled 
with visitors. There are no neighbors nearer than the 
fishing village, a mile below. No one will call upon you 
or molest you. You are safe here, and I trust will be 
contented.” 

There was some further conversation, and then the 
meal was over. 

Gilbert Monk kissed Lady Chetwynd as a brother 
might have done, and she clung to him for a moment as 
to her only friend. Then she tottered away from him 
to the window and he went out. Mrs. Crowl accompa- 
nied him to the waiting carriage, and presently returned, 
announcing that Monk was gone. 

Gilbert Monk had two objects in view in his journey 
to London. First, he desired Lady Chetwynd to think 
that he was searching for her husband. It was neces- 
sary to his plans that the young marchioness should 
think him her best friend and devoted to her interests, 
should rely upon him, trust him with the fullest confi- 
dence, and should feel the utmost dependence upon him. 

His second object was to procure more money, of 
which he was in urgent need. Accordingly he did not 
stop in London, but hastened down to Sussex and Chet- 
wynd Park. 

His delight may be imagined when he learned from 
his sister that the marquis had left England, and had 
gone no one knew whither. 

Fate seemed playing directly into his hands. He 
felt in that moment the conviction of his ultimate and 
perfect success in his villainous and nefarious schemes. 


Bernice at Mawr Castle, 


139 


His joy at Chetwynd’s departure was greatly augmented 
by the discovery that the marquis had provided for 
his — Monk’s — pecuniary wants, by leaving a thousand 
pounds for his use with Mr. Sanders, and he hastened 
to apply for it. After a long and private interview 
with Sylvia, he walked through the chill shadows of the- 
home park to the house of the bailiff, got his money,, 
returned to the Park and dined with his sister. After 
dinner he proceeded to Eastbourne, and thence to Lon- 
don. 

He remained in town two or three days purchasing 
books, a few choice engravings, and various other articles 
for the use of Lady Chetwynd. Burdened with these, 
he returned to Wales, arriving on the evening he had 
appointed for his return. 

Flack was awaiting him at the railway station of Car- 
narvon. The trunks and parcels were transported to 
Monk’s carriage— which he had bought at second-hand — 
and the employer then said, in a low voice : 

“ I take it for granted, Flack, that all is well at the 
castle. I could not speak before all those guards and 
porters. Is the young lady doing well ?” 

“Very well, sir,” said Flack. “ She walks among the 
ruins every day, and asks eagerly when you are likely 
to be back. She does not know I came to meet you to- 
night. Lor’, sir, this an’t no abduction case. Why, 
she’s unhappy without you, and just pining for you to 
get back. She’s regularly in love with you, and no 
mistake.’ 

Monk smiled. He had not enlightened Flack in 
regard to Bernice’s identity, leaving him still to believe 
that he — Monk — was the girl’s lover. 

He climbed up to the box, as did Flack, the trunks 
and parcels being put inside the carriage, and drove 


140 


The Haunted Husband. 


down the streets of Carnarvon on their way to Mawr 
Castle. 

Lady Chetwynd had long since retired, but Mrs. 
Crowl was up and dressed, and waiting for Monk. j 
There was a tempting supper spread for him in Ber- 
nice’s little parlor, and he sat down in it and was served 
by his confederate. 

“ How does the young lady get along ?” he asked, 
sipping his wine. 

“ She is as impatient as a caged eagle,” replied Mrs. 
Crowl. “ She is still 'weak, but walks about the rooms, 
and watches the sea, the waves and the boats, and asks 
me every day if I think you will come to-day. She 
will not read, nor take things quietly. She wants ‘Roy.’ 
To-day I called her ‘ Miss,’ as usual, when she told me, 
with a little haughtiness, that she was the Marchioness 
of Chetwynd. I cautioned her not to repeat the state- 
ment to old Elspie or the man Flack, for that Lady 
Chetwynd was dead and buried, and I saw her obitu- 
ary in the court papers myself. She’s a proud, high- 
bred, aristocratic young creature, and as ignorant of 
the world as any young baby.” 

“ So much the better. I like mettlesome women. 
You may tell her in the morning that I am come, I will 
meet her at breakfast.” 

Having satisfied the cravings of his appetite, Monk 
departed to his own room. 

He was in the little parlor at nine o’clock in the morn- 
ing, standing before the fire, warming his hands — the day 
was chill — when he heard a little ecstatic cry in the 
adjoining dressing-room, and the other door opened, 
and Bernice came running out to him, her wan, brown 
face aglow, her eyes shining like twin suns. 

She looked at Monk — past him — at the door — the 
window. 


Bernice at Mazur Castle. 


141 


Then the flush faded from her face, leaving- her 
ghastly pale. 

“ Where— where is Roy ?” she faltered. “ Did you 
not bring him, Gilbert ? Is he in the hall ?” 

Gilbert Monk’s swarthy face assumed an expression 
of tender commiseration. He approached her, took 
her hand in his, and led her to a sofa. 

“ 1 am come alone, Bernice,” he said, with seeming 
sorrow. 

“ Alone ? Where is Roy ? Not dead, Gilbert ? Oh, 
not dead ?” 

Her wild young voice rang like a wail through the 
room. 

“ No, not dead, Bernice. He has left England, and 
not even Sanders, the bailiff, knows where he has gone. 
He said he might go to Africa, India, China, or Austra- 
lia. He may have gone to the wilds of America, to the 
Brazils, or to the North Pole. He has gone and left no 
trace behind him !” 

“ Oh’ merciful Heaven ! Gone ! A wanderer ! And 
I living — I waiting for him !” wailed Bernice. “ Oh, 
Roy, Roy !” 

A death-like faintness swept over her, and her head 
fell on her bosom. Monk brought restoratives to her 
and she soon revived, but she was weak and drooping, 
and her wan, piteous face was full of a wild des- 
pair. 

“ Do not give way like this, Bernice,” said Monk, 
gently. “ I know you are physically weak, but let your 
high spirit uphold you. You can bear this trial. It is 
not as if he were dead. I have brought you the court 
papers — see — with the account of his departure. Read 
this !” 

He unfolded a copy of the court journal and exhib- 
ited a marked paragraph. 


142 


The Haunted Husband. 


It was to the effect that the Marquis of Chetwynd 
“ whose recent romantic marriage with a young lady of 
the island of St. Kilda we but lately chronicled, and 
who has just been cruelly bereft of his young wife by 
fever, has left England upon a prolonged tour, whose 
aim and end are uncertain. His lordship is much 
broken by his terrible bereavement, and will seek 
change of scene in far romantic lands. We trust his 
self-imposed exile will be brief, and that he will soon 
return to his native country in improved health and 
spirits. 

Bernice read the lines in a sort of stupefaction. 

“ He may die where he has gone !” she murmured, 
with white lips, “ He may never know that I did not 
die, Gilbert — that I am still living !’* 

“ He will come back within fifteen months, I am 
assured, Bernice,” said Monk, cheerfully. “ He is safe 
enough. There is a year of separation between you ; 
that is all. Can you not bear that bravely ? Will you 
pine and die of grief in his absence ? He is gone, and 
it is impossible to trace him. I have tried, but vainly. 
The world is bigger than you dreamed, Bernice. We 
can do only one thing — wait ! How and where are you 
to pass the time of your husband’s absence ?” 

A blank look overspread the girl’s despairing face. 

“ What am I to do, Gilbert ?” she asked. “ I cannot 
go back to Chetwynd Park without him ; indeed I can- 
not. Every room there would remind me of him. He 
might hear too abruptly of my presence there, or if he 
did not hear it, people would frighten me with their 
starings and questionings. Oh, no ! If Sylvia was 
there, I might take shelter in her friendship ; but she is 
gone, you say — ” 

“ To the north of England,” said Monk, falsely. 
“ The Park is shut up, Bernice, the servants dismissed, 


Bernice at Mawr Castle. 


H3 


and only the butler, Mrs. Skewer, and a maid or two 
and the grooms in charge. You could hardly remain 
there with only servants for companions. You have 
this house, Bernice. I have taken a lease of Mawr 
Castle for two years. It is hidden away from the world, 
in a mountain region, on a desolate rocky coast. You 
have said that the scenery reminds you of that of St. 
Kilda. No visitors will ever intrude upon you here. 
Mrs. Crowl will remain with you. You have horses and 
a carriage at your disposal. No one need know you as 
the Marchioness of Chetwynd, who is believed to be 
dead and buried. If your identity were known, the 
superstitious villagers below might annoy you. You 
could pass as Miss Gwellan — it’s a Welsh name, you 
know — and live here in safe obscurity till Roy comes 
home. I should be much of the time in London, but 
could come here at any moment at your summons, and 
should come to see you once a fortnight. It is the only 
safe place I know of for you. Be guided by me, Bernice, 
and remain.” 

“ You are my best friend, Gilbert — you saved me from 
an awful death — you brought me back from the grave. 
I love you as if you were my brother. I will stay here.” 

Monk pressed her hand respectfully, and with seem- 
ing affection. 

“ I know the world better than you do, Bernice. I’m 
a man of the world ; I know that you have chosen well 
to remain here. And now I want you to make me a 
promise. It’s for your own good, my dear little Bernice, 
and Roy would approve it. There is a certain horror 
attaching in England to any one who has been buried 
alive. It is much the same as the horror experienced 
at sight of a criminal who has been hanged and resusci- 
tated. People draw away from one who has been res- 
cued from the grave ; they whisper aside, they feel a 


144 


The Haunted Hicsband. 


horrible awe, they are afraid. It is as if one had come 
back from the other world. To spare your sensitive 
soul the anguish of feeling yourself thus outcast for no 
fault of your own, my poor Bernice, I want you to prom- 
ise me not to reveal your name and identity to any 
human being without my permission.” 

The girl shuddered at the picture he had drawn, but 
having implicit confidence in him, accepted his state- 
ment unhesitatingly. 

“ I promise,” she said, “ excepting Roy — ” 

“ Excepting no one,” said Monk, firmly. “ I know 
Roy’s high-strung nature. The sudden shock of finding 
you alive, whom he mourns as dead, would kill him. 
When the time comes I will prepare him to receive you. 
Am I not your best friend, Bernice ? Did I not save 
you? Am I not devoted to your interests ? Have I not 
just been up to London searching for Roy? Have faith 
in me. Promise me that not even to Roy will you 
betray the secret that you still live, until I tell you it is 
time. Prove your gratitude to me, and your faith in me, 
by this promise.” 

“But, Gilbert — ” 

“ You do not trust me, then — me who saved your 
life ?” 

“ I do — I do. I promise, Gilbert.” 

“ I want more than this, Bernice. I shall not be 
happy until I have restored you to your husband. I 
shall send men in search of him, but I have no hope of 
finding him. He will return in his own time. The 
only reward I ask is that you will permit me to take 
you to your husband when he comes. And so promise 
me, Bernice, that even if you meet him, if you should 
stand face to face with him, if he should even speak to 
you, you will not betray your identity to him. If I am 


Bernice at Mazur Castle. 


H5 


living, I beg to be allowed to restore you to him. Do 
you promise ?” 

The girl in strange agitation, gave the required 
promise. 

“Swear it, Bernice,” persisted Gilbert Monk. 
“ Swear to me that, if I am living, you will allow me 
to be the first to declare your identity with that Mar- 
chioness of Chetwynd who was buried last week in 
Chetwynd church — swear that not even to Roy, what- 
ever the temptation, you will reveal the fact that you 
live until I give you permission. This is all the reward 
I ask for saving you to your husband.” 

“ I swear it, Gilbert,” said Bernice, with a trusting 
look into his swarthy face. “ It is but a small return 
for your great goodness to me, to allow you the joy of 
bringing Roy and me again together. And so I swear 
what you desire, and may God punish me if I break my 
vow.” 

She spoke with a deep solemnity that ought to have 
thrilled the heart of her listener. She felt burdened by 
her great debt of gratitude to him ; she trusted him and 
relied upon him. And thus it was, although with secret 
pangs, for she would have preferred to remain unfet- 
tered, she took upon her a solemn vow which she would 
never dare to break. She had been educated by the 
stern old minister of St. Kilda to respect her word as an 
oath and to deem a vow registered in heaven. 

“ It is understood, of course,” said Monk, lightly, 
“ that if I am out of England the vow is null and void. 
Only, if I am in England, Bernice, I shall feel that you 
are rewarding me royally if you allow me to bring you 
and Roy together. I love you both. Roy is a brother 
to me. And now about personal affairs. I have plenty 
of money. I have bought you books and a hundred 
trifles. Is there anything else I can do for you ?” 


146 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ You think Roy will be absent a year ?” 

“Fifteen months, at least.” 

“ I am not a skillful player on the pianoforte,” said 
Bernice, thoughtfully. “ My French, too, in comparison 
with Roy’s has an English sound. Gilbert, why may 
I not improve this year by studying hard and better 
fitting myself for my position as Lady Chetwynd ?” 

“ You could, easily enough. It is a good idea to 
occupy your mind. Shall I procure you a French gov- 
erness, Bernice, to teach you her language, music, danc- 
ing, and deportment ; in short, one of those accom- j 
plished creatures known as a finishing governess ? I see 
no need of her tutelage ; Roy thinks you perfect ; but I 
shall be glad to bring you an instructress if you desire.” 

“ I do desire it. Roy shall find me accomplished 
beyond his highest hopes when he returns. He shall 
find his little wife polished, a fine musician — all that 
fashionable ladies are. I know he intended me to take 
lessons in music this winter, and in drawing also. Gil- 
bert, how can I thank you for your goodness to me ? \ 
I ought to be patient — you are so kind.” 

“ If the French governess comes, it might be better 
to abandon the name of Gwellan altogether,” said Monk. 

Suppose you call yourself Miss^Bernice Gwyn ? You 
are willing? Very well. Miss Bernice Gwyn it shall 
be, and you have as much right to it as to the name 
Gwellan. .1 hope you will be happy here. A year will 
soon slip away, and then I hope to restore you to your 
husband.” 

The programme thus outlined was carried out. 

A French governess, an accomplished and elegant i 
woman, a grand dame in reduced circumstances, the 
widow of a noble French refugee, was secured as the I 
instructress of “ Miss Bernice Gwyn,” and duly installed 
at Mawr Castle. 


Bernice at Mawr Castle . 


147 


The days and weeks and months that followed were 
busy ones to young Bernice. She studied with the 
ardor of an enthusiast. She became proficient in the 
French and German languages ; she became an accom- 
plished pianist and singer, developing the talents God 
had given her. Her dormant genius bloomed into a 
rare and glorious development. She waited, she 
watched, she hoped. In the nights her pillow was wet 
with her tears. She prayed for her young husband’s safe 
return with every hour of the day. And so, blossoming 
into her glorious womanhood with its rare dower of 
genius and a surpassing beauty, Bernice passed that 
long year of waiting. 

During all this period Monk had been living in Lon- 
don as a man about town. The time had not arrived 
for him to make his grand move in the game. 

Other months dragged on until fifteen months had 
passed since the Marquis of Chetwynd had exiled him- 
self from home and country. Gilbert Monk grew anx- 
ious and uneasy now, also, under all his careless seem- 
ing, and Sylvia Monk waited with “ hope deferred ” 

, until her heart grew sick within her. 

But at last, one day in March, when Gilbert Monk was ^ 
( seated in Scotsby and Newman’s inner office, with a very 
I gloomy frown on his swarthy face, meditating upon a 
, trip down into Sussex upon the morrow, with intent to 
j borrow money of his sister, a telegram was brought to 
r him. Monk tore it open with a thrill of expectation. 
He believed something had happened. The telegram 
1 was dated Chetwynd Park, and was signed with the 
t name of Sylvia Monk. It was as follows : 

e 

e “ Sanders has had a letter from Chetwynd at last. It 
4 came to-day. His lordship is at Genoa, and on his way 
home to England.” 



CHAPTER XI. 

TURNING UP STRANGELY. 

In the picturesque bay of Genoa, on a certain March 
day, a trim little steamer lay, her engine puffing noisily 
and her sailors rushing to and fro in all the hurry and 
confusion of intending immediate departure. This 
steamer belonged to an Italian line, and was bound for 
Marseilles. 

At one end of the vessel were grouped the few pas- 
sengers, some of them Italian, some French, one an 
Englishman. 

The Englishman was the young Marquis of Chet- 
wynd. He stood apart from his fellow-voyagers, lean- 
ing lightly upon the taffrail, and regarding the scenery 
as if he meant to photograph it upon his memory. 

He was on his way home to England. 

He had travelled far duringffiis fifteen months of self- 
imposed exile ; and now, tired of his wanderings, and 
yearning to see once more the green fields and shaded 
park of his own domain, was hurrying homeward, beset 
by the same restlessness that had characterized him 
since the hour he had consigned his young wife to the 
tomb. 

He was looking now at the long piers, at the light- 
house, at the grand amphitheatre of the fortified city 
seated upon a slope of the mountain side, and meditat- 
[148] 


Turning Up Strangely. 


149 


in g upon the beauty of Genoa la superba, when a sudden 
lull of the noises on the deck aroused him from his 
reverie. He looked around him. The freight was all 
on board. The vessel was ready to start, yet she was 
waiting. The captain, who had halted near the mar- 
quis, was looking shoreward, with visible impatience. 

“ What’s wrong, Captain ?” inquired the young lord, 
speaking in Italian. “ Are you expecting some one ?” 

“ Yes, an English milord,” replied the captain,' knit- 
ting his brows. “ I give him just five minutes more. 
Ah, there he comes now ; is it not so?” 

Lord Chetwynd turned his gaze shoreward. A tall 
Englishman was approaching the waterside with swift 
and hasty strides. He came down upon the quay, sum- 
moned a boatman with an imperative gesture, and was 
rowed out to the waiting steamer. He climbed lightly 
aboard, tossing a couple of coins to his rower, and as he 
strode along the deck the vessel moved slowly out upon 
the sunlit waters of the bay. 

Lord Chetwynd surveyed his fellow- country man"with 
singular interest. 

He was a tall, grandly formed man of some forty 
years, with hair and eyes of dead blackness. His beard 
was long and thick, and also coal-black. He was of 
noble and distinguished presence, of commanding air, 
of reserved and haughty demeanor, and possessed a 
pair of eagle eyes, a scornful mouth, and an expression 
of disdain and cynicism. 

Chetwynd read in the brown, finely cut face traces of 
some sorrow as mighty as his own. The stranger’s 
gloom oppressed him. He felt intuitively that this 
new-comer was a proud, high-spirited man who had 
suffered terribly — and who suffered still. 

His glance of interest attracted his compatriot, who, 
after a moment’s hesitation and apparent struggle with 


The Haunted Husband . 


1 50 


liimself, approached the young lord and stood beside 
him at the taffrail. The two were silent for some 
moments, watching the receding shores, and Chetwynd 
then addressed the stranger, making some allusion to 
the romantic character of the scenery. 

“ You are English, then ?” said the new-comer, 
abruptly, replying, as Chetwynd had spoken, in the 
English tongue. “I thought sor That fair hair of 
yours and that yellow moustache betray your national- 
ity, although at the first glance I took you for a Ger- 
man. I have not spoken to an Englishman in years. I 
generally avoid my countrymen abroad,” and his lips 
curled in a cynical smile. “ I chose this line of steam- 
ers because I believed that I should not meet many of 
my countrymen upon it. It seems that I was right, 
and that you and I are the only representatives of Brit- 
annia on board. ” 

Lord Chetwynd made an assenting response. 

“ You are unlike most Englishmen who rush abroad 
to ‘ do’ Italy or the Continent in the shortest possible 
time,” observed the stranger, after a pause. “ Perhaps 
it is the novelty of again meeting one of my countrymen 
— perhaps it is that I am, after all, not a desperate hater 
of my kind — but, whatever the reason, I am interested 
in you. As we are to be fellow-voyagers, suppose we 
exchange addresses ?” 

“ Willingly. I am the Marquis of Chetwynd ; and 
you ?” 

“ I am Basil Tempest. I am returning to England 
after an absence of many years spent in China and 
Tartary.” 

A glow of recognition came into Chetwynd’s face. 

“ You are Tempest the explorer !” he exclaimed. “ I 
have been familiar with your name for many years, sir. 
I have read your books, and studied your course through 


Turning Up Strangely . 15 1 


wilds where no Englishman has penetrated before you. 
I admire your pluck, your energy, your devotion to 
science. I am happy to make the acquaintance of the 
distinguished traveller, Tempest.” 

Chetwynd spoke with an unaffected heartiness and 
sincerity that touched the world-weary soul of the great 
traveller. When he held out his hand in English fashion 
of greeting, Tempest grasped it with a firm and linger- 
ing pressure. 

The night came on dark, with a fierce wind and a 
rough sea. Chetwynd went up on deck at a late hour, 
and stood leaning against the side of the vessel, watch- 
ing the phosphorescent gleam of the furious waters. 

“ It’s a wild night,” said the voice of Mr. Tempest, at 
his elbow. *• I wonder how those poor wretches can 
sleep below in those close and stuffy state-rooms. I 
like to witness this warring of the elements ; to see 
those giant white waves rush upon us like furious white 
chargers attempting to ride us down. I like storms 
and conflicts of power such as this, when sea and wind 
are fighting.” 

“ I have had so much of unrest in my own life of 
late,” said the marquis, sighing, “ that all I long for is 
peace.” 

“ Have you, too, known sorrow ?” asked Mr. Tempest. 

“ Who has not ?” was Lord Chetwynd’s bitter re- 
sponse. It is only fifteen months since I lost my wife. 

I cannot speak of it.” 

“ Did your wife die ?” asked the explorer, in a 
strangely moved voice. 

“ Yes, she died. Did you not hear me say that I 
lost her ?” 

“ Yes ; but wives are sometimes lost to us when they 
do not die,” said Mr. Tempest, with an odd thrill in his 
deep musical voice. “ You ought to know peace, Lord 


J 5 2 


The Haunted Husband. 


Chetwynd, if she is dead — if she died loving you. My 
God ! why are you not happy ? She is safe, and your 
heart must thrill at the memory of her loving words, 
her tenderness, her love. I had a wife once, and I lost 
her. But she did not die. It was her loss that made 
me what I am, Tempest the explorer.” 

There was a few minutes’ silence between the two, 
during which the laboring of the engine became more 
plainly marked and perceptible. 

“ You must not misunderstand me,” said Mr. Tempest 
at last, in a voice that sounded broken. “ My wife did 
not abandon me. I adored her. She was well born, 
but poor. She was a beautiful young girl when I first 
saw her, and she had already several suitors. I loved 
her, and her father approved my suit. I was rich, you 
see,” and he spoke bitterly ; “ so her father favored my 
suit. She had another devoted lover, handsomer than 
I, but she seemed to look coldly upon him. I courted 
her and married her. She received my caresses coldly ; 
she never spoke a word to me ; she was air iceberg. 
Fool that I was, I believed she acted out her nature. 
And I lavished upon her all the hoarded tenderness 
of my heart, and believed that she loved me in a fee- 
ble way in return. But one evening — we had been 
married some three years then — I returned home unex- 
pectedly. I entered the house with my latch-key. I 
heard voices in the drawing-room, and went thither. I 
must have opened the door softly, for no one heard me. 
I stood on the threshold and saw my wife in her favor- 
ite chair, with a man kneeling at her feet. He was the 
handsome lover she had discarded for me. He had 
just returned from a long absence abroad. He was 
telling her how he loved her, and had always loved 
her.” 

Mr. Tempest paused his voice choked. 


Turning Up Strangely. 


T 53 


“ But that proves nothing against your wife, Mr. 
Tempest,” said the young marquis. “She might not 
have encouraged his declaration. She might have 
loved you — ” 

Mr. Tempest laughed sneeringly. 

“You have not heard all,” he said. “I listened for 
her answer, with my heart in my throat. And what 
was her answer ? She broke out into a passionate fit of 
weeping, and forbade him to speak to her in that man- 
ner. 

“ She confessed that she had always loved him ; but 
that he was poor, and she could not mate with pov- 
erty ; that her father had compelled her to marry 
me, but that she abhored me ; that she wished she was 
dead and in her grave, that she might be free from me. 
And then she raised her head and retreated from him, 
wringing her hands wildly and begging him to leave 
her. 

“I heard it all. I felt like a tiger in that moment. 
I could have leaped in upon them and torn to pieces 
the fair, false creature I had so adored. But I restrained 
myself. I shut the door softly and went up stairs. Of 
course, all was over forever between me and the woman 
who married me for my money and position, and who 
hated me. I would not longer torture her by my 
presence. I resolved that she should be free from me 
in this world. I sat down at the desk and wrote her a 
letter, ‘telling her that I had heard all, and that she was 
free. I left the house before her lover quitted her. I 
have never seen my wife since. I suppose that she 
believes me dead, and is married to him. I shall never 
let her know that I am living.” 

“ Perhaps she is dead ?” 

“ Perhaps. I am going back to England to see her 
grave if she is dead, to catch a glimpse of her face if 


i54 


The Haunted Husband. 


she is living. I shall not reveal myself to her, and I am 
not returning to see her, Chetwynd, but to fulfill a 
sacred duty which I have too long neglected. I have 
long been haunted by the fear that I might die and 
leave that duty unfulfilled. It is that duty that brings 
me to England. I never told my story before, but 
there are moments of weakness known to every soul 
when one longs to unburden all one’s sorrow, and to 
hear a comforting word. Such a mood is upon me 
to-night. The fact that I am nearing England, and 
that I am speaking once more in my half-forgotten 
tongue, seems to break up my stony calmness of years. 
In this friendly storm and darkness I have indulged in 
unwonted frankness. 1 shall repent it to-morrow. So 
forget what I have said, and let it be as if it had not 
been.” 

Lord Chetwynd sought the explorer’s hand and 
grasped it warmly. 

“ Your sorrow is worse than mine,” he said. “ Let us 
be friends. You stand alone in the world ; let me be 
something more to you than a stranger. I never met a 
man I was so drawn to at first sight. Shall we be 
friends ?” 

“ As you will, although a worn and weary man like 
me is no fit friend for you.” 

The two men talked throughout the whole of that 
dark and dreary night. Near daybreak Mr. Tempest 
went below. When he appeared at breakfast, he was 
again the cool, cynical man of the previous day. 

The weather cleared during the day, and in due time 
the trim little steamer labored into the port of Mar- 
seilles. Lord Chetwynd and Mr. Tempest went to the 
same hotel. They journeyed to England together, and 
stopped at the same quiet family hotel in Piccadilly, 
London, arriving there late at night. 


Turning Up Strangely. 


155 


Before Mr. Tempest was astir the next morning, Mr. 
Sanders, the Chetwynd bailiff, and Gilbert Monk had 
made their appearance, and were shown up to Lord 
Chetwynd ’s rooms. 

They found the marquis up and dressed, and they 
were received with the heartiest cordiality. 

“ I received your telegram, dated Paris, yesterday, 
my lord,” said Sanders, “ and I hurried up to town by 
the first train. Mr. Monk was at the Park, and he 
came up with me. The news that you are coming home 
has made a great sensation in the county, and every 
one is glad.” 

“ You have been greatly missed, Chetwynd,” said 
Gilbert Monk, in his smiling, boyish way. “ Your 
tenants wanted to get up a celebration of some sort, 
and Sanders had all he could do to restrain them from 
sending up fireworks in your honor.” 

“ I will go back with you to-day,” said the marquis, 
quietly. I have a friend who journeyed with me 
from Genoa, and whom I will endeavor to persuade to 
accompany me home. It is ten o’clock. I will see him 
now.” 

He excused himself, and went to Mr. Tempest’s 
room. The explorer bade him enter. 

Mr. Tempest was in his little sitting-room at break- 
fast. His table was littered with newspapers of every 
description, whose contents he was eagerly devouring 
with the mental hunger of a man who has not seen a 
newspaper printed in his own language for many 
years. 

He arose at Chetwynd’s entrance, but immediately 
resumed his seat. 

“ I am already welcomed by my step-brother and my. 
bailiff, whom I left in my room, Mr. Tempest,” said 
Lord Chetwynd, when they had exchanged salutations, 


*56 


The Haunted Hies band. 


“ I am expected home to-day, and I am now come to 
beg you to go home with me. My house is at your 
service, and I shall be glad to have you for my guest as 
long as you will honor me by staying. Will you come ?” 

The great explorer shook his grand head sorrowfully. 

“ I should like to go,” he said, “ but I cannot. I have 
a sacred duty to perform. I alluded to it once in speak- 
ing with you, you may remember. I came on to Lon- 
don because London is a central point, and then, too, it 
is on my way. I leave town to-night. I have a sea voy- 
age before me full of perils, but I cannot defer it longer. 
Some time I may visit you, my lord, but now our paths 
part here. May God bless you and make His face to 
shine upon you.” 

He arose and took Chetwynd’s hand. A few more 
words were said, then farewells were spoken, and Chet- 
wynd returned to his friends. A little later he left the 
hotel with them and set out upon his return to Sussex. 

Mr. Tempest resumed his seat and the perusal of the 
morning journals. 

Suddenly he uttered a great appalling cry that rang 
through the room, and the newspaper dropped from his 
hand. 

“ What ! Dead !” he whispered. “ Dead !” 

He caught up the paper again and read the paragraph 
with protruding eyes and corpse-like visage. The para- 
graph that so affrighted him was as follows, and was an 
extract credited to the Glasgow Evening Mail : 

“Terrible Disaster at Sea. — We learn that the fish- 
ing Schooner Wave Rider , owned in Glasgow by the 
Messrs. Dunallen, was lost at sea with nearly her entire 
crew on the ioth ult. She had on board as passengers 
the Rev. David Gwellan and wife, of St. Kilda. 

“ The Rev. David Gwellan has been for many years 


Turning Up Strangely. 


157 


I minister of St. Kilda. His health had been very much 
broken for a year past, and he was returning to Scot- 
land to consult an able physician when he met his 
untimely fate. Mrs. Gwellan was a Scotch lady by birth. 
We understand that the unfortunate couple leave no 
children, their adopted daughter, Miss Bernice Gwellan, 
having died over a year since.” 

Mr. Tempest stared at the concluding sentence in 
a rigid horror. 

“ Dead !” he said, hollowly. “ Bernice is dead ! The 
Gwellans are dead also ! I have waited too long. I 
have left my sacred duty undone, and now it is too 
late ! Bernice has been dead a year. I shall never see 
her to implore her forgiveness for leaving her all her 
young life on that dreary island. I shall never feel 
her kisses on my cheek, never hear her call me father. 
In all my imaginings I never dreamed of this. Oh, 
Bernice ! my poor, wronged child ! outcast from her 
father’s heart because of her mother’s falseness and 
deceit, shall I never see your innocent face again ? 
Now I know that, unsuspected and unknown to me, I 
looked forward to a reunion with my child. My child ! 
My God, I am written childless ! I am alone ! I have 
no voyage to make now. One look at my false wife’s 
face, myself unseen, and I shall go back to Tartary.” 

He bowed his grand head and wept aloud. 

Lord Chetwynd drove home from Eastbourne in an 
open carriage with Mr. Sanders and Gilbert Monk, in 
the dull gloom of a lowering March afternoon, under 
the frowning English sky, which seemed continually 
upon the point of dropping rain upon them. His lord- 
ship’s heart was heavy. It was impossible that he 
should not be reminded of that other home-coming 
when he had brought his young bride home with him. 


The H Minted Husband, 


158 


His eyes fell upon the gray stone parish church, with 
its slender stone spire, and he exclaimed : 

“ Sanders, was the tablet put up as I directed ?” 

“Yes, my lord,” said the bailiff. “ The inscription, as 
you wrote it, was cut into marble, and the slab of marble 
was let into the church wall, and fixed solidly into 
place.” 

His lordship sighed heavily. 

The carriage turned in at the lodge gates, and the 
marquis aroused himself to speak to the lodge-keeper. 
He was silent as they passed up the avenue. 

They drove into the carriage porch, and Chetwynd 
alighted and went up the steps with a pale face and 
still silent mien. There was no marshaling of servants 
in. the great hall. The butler and the housekeeper 
stood inside the door to give their master welcome, and 
at a little distance in the shadow of the grand staircase, 
like some bird of ill omen, stood old Ragee, the Indian 
nurse of Sylvia Monk, her withered black face looking 
weird and witch-like under her heavy red turban. 

The marquis shook hands with his faithful servants, 
bowed to the old Indian woman with his never-failing 
courtesy, and allowed the butler to pull off his great- 
coat. Ridding himself of gloves, cap and muffler, his 
lordship passed into the drawing-room, Monk and 
Sanders lingering in the hall. 

The drawing-room was very inviting after the chill 
gloom without. Among the various pictures adorning 
the room was a fine portrait in oils of the young mar- 
quis, painted two years before. This portrait was 
exquisitely wreathed with flowers, and under it, upon a 
small bracket draped with amber velvet under point 
lace, was a lovely bouquet of odorous blossoms. 

A sudden moisture dimmed Chetwynd’s eyes at this 
evidence of regard for him. Only one person in the 


Turning Up Strangely. 


159 


house was capable of so delicate a tribute of welcome. 
He looked around for her. The long, luxurious room 
had no occupant beside himself. He called quickly, 
half impatiently : 

“ Sylvia !” 

There was a fluttering sound in the inner drawing- 
room, and Sylvia Monk, tall and regally handsome in 
her swarthy East Indian beauty, dressed in a sort of 
half-mourning, wearing a sweeping robe of purple velvet 
and ornaments of gleaming purple amethysts, with a 
red gleam in the dull blackness of her now open eyes, 
red roses on her dusky olive cheeks, and a smile of rap- 
ture on her red lips, came softly, swiftly, to meet him. 

He held out his hands to her, but she put up her face 
to be kissed. 

“ Oh, Roy, dear Roy,” she breathed, in a rapturous 
voice, resting her head upon his shoulder. “ Welcome 
home — a thousand times welcome !” 

She drew back from him upon the instant, as in 
maidenly modesty, and he noted the flush that mounted 
to her face, her eagerness and excitement, and in her 
drooping eyes he read the fact that she loved him. 

He withdrew toward the fire with a feeling almost of 
repulsion. He had no wish for love other than a calm, 
sisterly affection. 

Miss Monk took the alarm, and swept after him to 
the marble hearth, and laid her hand upon his arm, 
and said in a low tone of tender pleading : 

“ Dear Roy, if you only knew how I have looked for- 
ward to this hour ! I have thought of you by day and 
by night. I have wondered where you were, and wept 
and prayed for your return. And now you are come, 
and I find you changed — cold — constrained — ” 

Her voice gave way in seeming sobs. She drooped 
her head. 


i6o 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ Not changed to you, Sylvia,” said Chetwynd, affec- 
tionately, taking her in his arms. “ My dear sister, of 
whom I have often thought in .my wanderings. I am 
not the man I was two years ago. My sorrow has 
changed me, but I am the same Roy to you.” 

He kissed her, and at the same moment Gilbert 
Monk and Sanders entered the room. Sylvia slipped 
away from his lordship, flushed and satisfied, and 
Monk and the bailiff exchanged significant glances. 

Sanders remained to dinner, and retired with the 
marquis to the library soon after, having requested a 
few minutes’ private interview with his lordship. 

“ I don’t care to discuss business this evening, 
Sanders,” said the young lord, as the two entered the 
dim Moorish library. “ We will look over the accounts 
any day you like, but not to-night.” 

“It was not to talk of the accounts that I asked a few 
minutes’ interview, my lord,” said the bailiff. “ You 
will find them all right whenever your lordship may be 
pleased to examine them. I hope you will pardon my 
presumption, my lord, but I love you as if you were 
my own son, and I would give much to see you happy. 
I can hardly say what I wish. It is about Miss Monk.” 

“ Well, Sanders?” said his lordship, kindly. 

“I deemed it only just to say to your lordship that 
there is a report that Miss Monk is to be married to 
you. People knew of your early betrothal to her, and I 
desire to suggest, for the sake of the lady herself, that 
if there is no prospect of marriage between your lord- 
ship and her, Miss Monk ought to be sent away from 
Chetwynd Park.” 

“ Where could she go ?” 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure, my lord. This is her only 
home.” 

“ You have taken time by the forelock assuredly, 


Tu rn tug Up Sir a ngel \ \ 


1 6 1 


Sanders, in speaking to me on this snbjeet upon the 
very day of my return,” said his lordship. “ Miss Monk 
has a right here, and she will stay in spite of the gos- 
sips I do not intend to marry again.” 

“ But, my lord,” cried Sanders, eagerly, “ you are so 
young still. It is your duty to marry. Who is to 
inherit Chetwynd after you? Your lordship may per- 
haps never love again as you have loved, but surely 
some reward is due to the lonely woman in yonder who 
has waited the best years of her life for you, and who 
loves you better than she loves her own soul. No one 
knows that I am making this appeal to you. I am 
overstepping the bounds of my proper sphere, but I am 
an old man, Lord Chetwynd ; I loved you in your boy- 
hood — I love you still ; I know you will forgive my pre- 
sumption. Miss Monk was your mother’s choice for 
you ; young Lady Chetwynd loved her. My lord, you 
know what a cruel thing gossip is. Forgive me — ” 

“ It is all right, Sanders,” said the marquis, gravely. 
“ But say no more. We may talk more of this at some 
future time. I am not offended. You are going ? 
Well, good-night.” 

Sanders took his leave. He had spoken to Chetwynd 
from a conviction of duty, but had not said half he 
• intended. 

Chetwynd returned to the drawing-room. Monk and 
Sylvia -were there, the former pacing the room uneasily, 
the latter seated before the hearth with a dainty bit of 
wool embroidery. Sylvia looked up brightly as his 
lordship entered, and dropped her work upon her lap. 
The marquis approached her and took a seat near her, 
the words of the steward mingling in his thoughts with 
the last words of Bernice. 

His lordship had a grandly chivalrous nature. The 
fact that this woman loved him, and that the gossips 


162 


The Haunted Husband. 


made busy with her name, therefore entitled her to his 
tenderest protection. He did not love her except in a 
fraternal way, but he began to question within himself 
if he ought not to marry her. He had been betrothed 
to her. His mother had desired the marriage. Ber- 
nice had begged him to marry Sylvia. People evi- 
dently expected such a marriage, and Sylvia herself 
seemed to expect it. He began, therefore, to moot the 
question in his own mind. 

Sylvia, smiling sweetly upon him, was conscious of 
the struggle going on within him. Her love and ambi- 
tion were both aroused, and she b$nt herself to the 
task of winning him now, upon that very night. She 
meant to renew her betrothal before she slept. 

Gilbert Monk continued to walk to and fro. He was 
equally anxious with Sylvia for her marriage to Chet- 
wynd. Until that marriage should come off his game 
in regard to Bernice was blocked. 

He was thinking thus when the hall porter opened 
the door and approached him, saying : 

“ Mr. Monk, there’s a low fellow in the hall who says 
he must see you. His name, which he says it’s 
Flack—” ’ 

Monk started. 

“Flack!” he ejaculated. “Why, he was a servant 
of mine. I’ll see him.” 

He hurried out into the hall. Flack stood just inside 
the great portal. Monk went up to him and asked, in 
an undertone : 

“ What’s up ? Why are you here ?” 

“ Mrs. Crowl she sent me,” said Flack. “ Miss Gwytr 
left Mawr Castle the day before yesterday,, a:nd. we 
haven’t seen her since.” 

“ Left the castle ?” 

“ Yes, sir, along with a porkmantle, which she carried: 


Turning Up Strangely. 


1 63 


in her hand, and wearing of a gray dress and vail. 
Mrs. Crowl she thinks Miss Gwyn came this way, sir. 
It’s along of a newspaper which came around a packet 
of wools which the French governess bought at Car- 
narvon. The newspaper had a parrygraph that Lord 
Chetwynd was at Genoa, and on his way home. That 
unsettled Miss, and she made off the same night. 
Have you seen her here ?” 

“ Thunder ! no. She’s here, or in the neighborhood,” 
cried Monk, in a panic. “ You must watch here for her, 
Flack. Go over to the village inn and look for her there. 
Be in the edge of the park on the east side of the house 
after the lights are out. I must see you then — consult 
with you. I cannot stay here longer without exciting 
suspicion. We must find the girl to-night.” 

He returned to the house, concealing his anxiety and 
perturbation as best he could. He passed the drawing- 
room, going through the music-room to the great con- 
servatory, into which the drawing-rooms, music-room, 
and the pink boudoir opened. He sat down in a dim 
nook among the flowers, his heart beating fiercely, and 
muttered : 

“ Bernice here ! Bernice back at Chetwynd Park ! 
She will respect her oath. She will not reveal her iden- 
tity or presence to her husband ; but why does she 
come ? I fear there’s mischief ahead.” 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE FIGURE IN WHITE. 

From the low, rustic seat upon which Gilbert had 
flung himself, he could look into the bright drawing- 
room and hear the low murmur of voices. 

“ I wish Chetwynd would fall in love with Sylvia,” 
thought Monk ; “ but he remains wedded to his first 
love. I wish he would feel bound in honor or compas- 
sion to propose to Sylvia this very night. If she were 
very skillful I should think she might lead him on. If 
he were really and actually engaged to Sylvia, I think 
I could manage Bernice.” 

It seemed as if the fates were playing into his hands 
that night. 

While he lurked in the great conservatory that 
flanked one end of the house and opened upon several 
state apartments, Sylvia sat in a low chair before the 
fire, her gay bit of woolen embroidery upon her knee, 
the soft light falling in a flood upon her swarthy, hand- 
some face, red cheeks and glossy black hair, conscious 
that she was looking her best, and presenting a pretty 
picture to the long homeless young lord. 

“ I am glad to be back again,” said the marquis, his 
grave brows shadowed by his ceaseless unrest and 
bitter longings. “ I thought in Abyssinia that I would 
[164] 



The Figure in IV kite. 


165 


give all I owned to transport myself in an instant back 
to this dear old home. And now I am here, in the 
rooms she brightened with her joyous presence, and the 
pain of being here is greater than I could have dreamed. 
It seems as if Bernice were near me, Sylvia. I have 
never had that strange sense of the nearness of her 
presence since I lost her. It seems as if she were in 
these rooms — as if she might appear to me at any 
moment — as if I might hear her voice calling me.” 

“ That is very natural, and very naturally explained,” 
said Sylvia, in her smooth, silvery voice. “ You left 
this place so soon after dear Bernice’s death that her 
presence still seemed, as one might say, to pervade the 
house. You come back after a long absence, and every- 
thing reminds you of her. You have not grown used 
to the house without her.” 

“ Shall I ever get used to the house without her ?” 
asked Lord Chetwynd, in an impassioned voice. 

“ The edge of our grief must wear off some time,” 
said Sylvia, softly. “ It must lose its first sharpness, 
and become a vague and tender memory. Perhaps 
when I’m gone you will find repose in your fond mem- 
ories of Bernice. I love Chetwynd Park, and all the 
people upon the estate. This is the only home I have 
in the wide world. But I must leave it. I am going 
away soon, next week, if possible, and I shall never 
return again.” 

“ Why is this, Sylvia ? Why should you leave your 
home ?” 

“ Ah, that is it,” cried Sylvia, passionately. “ It is 
not my home. I have no right here. Can you not see, 
Roy? Do you not understand? You force me to 
speak plainly. I have no claims upon you, Roy, and I 
can no longer live upon your bounty. Besides,” and 
Sylvia’s voice trembled with the consciousness that she 


The Haunted Husband. 


1 66 


was playing her last card now, “ my good name is my 
most cherished possession, Roy ; it is, in truth, all I 
have, and people talk because I remain here.” 

“ What do they dare to say to the presence of my 
step-sister in my house ?” 

“ They say,” replied Sylvia, drooping her head still 
lower, “ that I was once betrothed to you, and that you 
jilted me. They say that — that I love you still, and 
that I am staying on here in hopes to win you. And so 
I must go, Roy. I could not stay on here so long as a 
spark of true womanhood remains in me. And so — and 
so — I’m going.” 

She covered her face and seemed to sob in an utter 
humiliation and anguish. 

“ There is only one way in which you can or will 
remain, I suppose,” he exclaimed, impetuously, “ and 
that is — as my wife.” 

“ Oh, Roy !” cried Miss Monk, rapturously, cresting 
her head in serpent fashion, her dull eyes burning with 
lambent flames, her red cheeks flaming into deeper 
carnation. 

For an instant Chetwynd paused, bewildered. Miss 
Monk waited for him to say more. He comprehended 
that his unguarded outburst had been interpreted as a 
half proposal of marriage. He was sick at heart for a 
brief space. Recovering himself, he said, with uncon- 
scious sternness : 

“ Sylvia, I never loved but once. My heart is buried 
with my wife. All my hopes rest in her coffin. We 
were once betrothed. You put an end to our engage- 
ment, as I fancied then, because you had discovered 
that you did not love me, and I married Bernice. My 
mother desired you and me to marry each other. 
Bernice, dying, urged me to marry you. Did she fancy, 
in that last hour, that you loved me ? The dying see 


The Figure in IVhite. 


67 


clearly, it is said. Perhaps she had heard of onr former 
| ‘ engagement, although that is scarcely probable. My 
mother loved you ; Bernice loved you. I cannot per- 
mit you to go forth to a life of toil and hardship, Sylvia, 
sister, knowing what I am, and that I have no heart to 
offer will you become my wife ?” 

The color flamed again in Miss Monk’s face. 

“Oh, Roy!” she breathed again, in rapture. “I 
love you. To be your wife is more than I had hoped. 
But I will devote my life to you. We will work 
together, and I know that I can bring back to you a 
portion at least of your lost happiness.” 

Chetwynd smiled sorrowfully. 

“Such a marriage is a one-sided affair,” he said. “ I 
have so little to give in return for your love. But I 
can spare you the toil and hardship of a governess’s life. 
I can shield you from contact with the busy world, and 
I will try to make you happy.” 

Miss Monk arose swiftly and rushed toward him with 
her soft, undulating movements, and flung herself upon 
his breast. 

He started back with a gesture of repulsion, but 
recollecting himself, folded one arm around her. They 
were betrothed again, and he could give her at least a 
brother’s caresses. 

“ Oh, Roy, this hour pays me for all I have 
endured !” cried Miss Monk. “All I ask is to be 
allowed to make you happy. I cannot hope ever to 
take the place of dear Bernice, but in time 1 may come 
to fill a little niche of my own in your heart. I have 
suffered so much. My life has been one long death 
without you. Take me closer, Roy, and give me the 
kiss of betrothal. At last— at last I am yours.” 

Chetwynd put both arms around her, and said in a 
broken voice : 


The IT minted Husband. 


1 68 


“ God bless you, my promised wife — my dear Sylvia ! 
and may your future happiness atone for the sorrows of 
your past.” 

He bent his noble head and pressed a kiss upon her 
willing lips. She held him to her, showering kisses 
upon him in a strange unreserve. 

A sigh, a breath, a faint rustle, like the brushing of a 
wing or the movement of a woman’s dress, came flutter- 
ing through the room. 

Chetwynd, still holding Sylvia to his breast, involun- 
tarily looked up. 

His appalled eyes beheld a sight that held him dumb 
and motionless. 

He saw standing in the wide archway of the open 
sliding doors that which he believed to be the appa- 
rition of his lost Bernice. 

She stood against a faintly lit background of dusky 
blooms, perfectly revealed, yet in the midst of an odor- 
ous twilight that made her seem indeed a vision from 
another world. 

She was dressed in white, as at her burial. Chet- 
wynd’s fascinated eyes noted that she wore a long, 
white silken robe like that in which he had consigned 
her to the tomb. He recognized the peculiar fashion- 
ing of the dress, for she had worn the one in which she 
had been buried at her first dinner at Chetwynd Park — 
that memorable dinner upon the very evening of her 
home-coming. The low, square-cut Pompadour cor- 
sage, with frills of point lace standing up about the 
slender throat and fair bosom ; the short sleeves ending 
at the elbow in a frill of lace ; the bared arms ; he 
recognized each separate feature of the toilet he had 
thought so charming. 

But the face ! It was strangely changed, and yet he 
knew it, and his heart leaped up within him at the 


i6g 


The Figure in White. 

o 


sight of it. Bernice had been plain, with but the possi- 
bility of beauty, but this vision was gloriously beautiful, 
with the radiance of a rare and perfect loveliness. 
Spellbound, he continued to stare at her, noting the 
pure, frank brows shaded by crinkling masses of float- 
ing hair, the soft and perfect contour of her face, the 
tender witchery of the sensitive mouth, the unutterable 
yearning and longing in the great vivid eyes of dusk. 
She looked as if she longed to speak, but was restrained 
by some invisible power. 

Sylvia’s head had been buried in Chetwynd’s breast. 
She wondered at his silence, and looked up, crying, 
fondly : 

“ Call me your promised wife again, dear Roy. Kiss 
me again. Am I not to be your wife ? Are we not to 
be happy at last ? Oh, my darling — ” 

She broke off abruptly, seeing the shadowy figure in 
the doorway. She stared at the vision as if it had been 
some demon sent to call her to her eternal home. Her 
hair seemed to rise on end. Her tongue was glued to 
her mouth. 

The countenance of the seeming apparition changed 
to an expression of ineffable despair and anguish. She 
opened wide her arms as if to embrace Chetwynd, and 
so, with outspread arms, and yearning, anguished face, 
she slowly retreated backward like the airy vision she 
seemed, until she had vanished into the gloom beyond. 

Not until the seeming spectre had disappeared did 
Lord Chetwynd arouse from his frozen silence. But 
then, as if galvanized, he flung Sylvia Monk from him 
in an utter forgetfulness of her, bounded across the 
room and into the conservatory. The wax lights were 
burning dimly in the great arched dome of glass, and 
there were dim nooks and shadows on every side. The 
marquis dashed down a wide flower-bordered aisle like 


170 


The Haunted Husband. 


a madman. The glazed doors at the lower end of the 
conservatory and opening into the garden were open. 
He made for them, uttering strange and incoherent 
cries. 

Gilbert Monk was standing near the door, as if 
brought to a sudden halt. He had seen Bernice enter 
the conservatory, but had been unable to arrest her 
movements. He had seen her but now depart like a 
shadow, and he was in the act of pursuit when Lord 
Chetwynd’s swift approach made him halt. The 
schemer knew that a crisis had occurred in the fortunes 
of himself and Sylvia, and upon his present coolness 
his own future -and hers depended. He was equal to 
the occasion. 

“ Why, what’s the matter, Chetwynd ?” he asked, in 
the utmost apparent surprise. “ Good gracious ! is the 
man mad ? Where are you going ? Why are you run- 
ning ? Great Heaven ! you look as if you had seen a 
ghost !” 

Chetwynd turned upon Monk, eager and impetuous. 

“Did you see her !” he cried. “ Has anyone passed 
out this way ?” 

“ No one. I have been standing in the doorway 
here these fifteen minutes,” replied Monk, with seem- 
ing truthfulness. “ Whom do you seek ? Sylvia ?” 

“ It was Bernice !” said the marquis, all excitement. 
“ I saw her as plainly as I see you, Gilbert — my dead 
wife, Bernice ! Help me to search the conservatory — " 

Monk put on a look of alarm. 

“ My dear Chetwynd,” he exclaimed, “ you are the 
victim of some singular hallucination. Your brain is 
turned. Have you forgotten that Bernice is dead ? 
How, then, have you seen her ? Do the dead return 
from their graves? My dear boy, let me send for 
Doctor Hartright. You have got a brain-fever.” 


The Figure in White. 1 71 


Chetwynd shook off Monk impatiently, and searched 
the conservatory in every nook and corner, but he found 
no trace of his strange visitant. He dashed out into 
the garden, and Monk went with him, but they did not 
see again the slender, girlish, white-robed figure of the 
seeming spectre. At length they re-entered the conser- 
vatory, the marquis pale and distracted, and returned 
to the drawing-room. Miss Monk stood before the fire, 
her cheeks again glowing, but there was a look of awful 
dread and horror still in her eyes. She imagined that 
the spirit of the woman whom she believed she had 
murdered had returned to haunt her for her crime. In 
her first horror she had been a very coward. She 
had crept away up stairs to her own room, and had 
there given way to her terrors. The old East Indian 
nurse had given her her usual remedy — a soothing 
draught — and had comforted her, and inspired her with 
fresh strength and courage. Under all her superstitions 
and peculiar weaknesses, Miss Monk possessed an iron 
will and a remorseless nature. Nothing had, so far, 
stood in her way in her attempts to win Lord Chetwynd. 
Now that he was fairly won, and again betrothed to 
her, she was determined that not even a visitant from 
the other world should take him from her. Having 
resolved, she returned to the drawing-room only a 
moment before Lord Chetwynd re-appeared. 

She welcomed his return with a look of gloomy 
reproach. Then, as if relenting, she swept toward him, 
caught his arm, and cried out : 

“Oh, Roy ! why did you throw me from you? Why 
did you dart away so abruptly ? You frightened me. 
How my heart £eats still ! What is the matter?” 

Chetwynd was astonished. 

“ Did you not see Bernice ?” he asked. “ Were you 
not also looking at yonder archway ?” 


The Haunted Husband. 


172 


“ I was looking at the archway,” replied the consum- 
mate actress, “ but no one was near it, Roy. What do 
you mean by your allusion to Bernice ? It cannot be 
that you fancied ) t ou saw her ?” 

“ I thought I saw her yonder, Sylvia. It is strange. 
I could have sworn that I beheld my lost wife. And 
you did not see her? Can it have been an illusion ? 
Gilbert was standing near the doorway of the conserva- 
tory, and he says that no one came in or went out by 
that way.” 

Sylvia swept a sudden, keen glance at her brother ; 
but his face was impassible. She determined to have 
an interview with him upon the subject later. 

Chetwynd was staggered in his belief. He put his 
hand to his forehead, saying, hollowly : 

“ Can I have been mistaken ? Was it all a freak of 
my over-excited brain ? It is easier to believe that than 
to believe that the dead can return. And yet, could my 
imagination have pictured her in all that splendor of 
loveliness, in the glory of a perfected beauty, the lustre 
of a beauty such as I have never seen ? I cannot 
explain it.” 

He leaned against the low mantel-piece, and Sylvia 
laid her red cheek on his arm in a caressing fondness. 

“Gilbert,” she said, proudly, “my place is here, at 
Roy’s side, henceforth. May I tell him, Roy ? Yes ? 
Listen then, Gilbert. Our old betrothal — Roy’s and 
mine — is renewed. We are to be married — Roy and I !” 

“ I congratulate you, Chetwynd, upon having won a 
true and loving heart,” said Monk, extending his hand 
to the marquis. “ This renewal of old relations will 
assuredly prove for the best. I supppse Sylvia won’t 
mind my telling you now that she has loved you all 
along with a rare devotion. I hope you two will be 
happy.” 


The Figure in White. 


1 73 


“ I am not myself yet,” said Lord Chetwynd with a 
troubled smile. “ I seem suddenly to make the discov- 
ery that I have nerves. I’ll go to my room, if you’ll 
kindly excuse me, Sylvia. I am greatly fatigued after 
my journey,” and he withdrew, going up to the rooms 
he had occupied with Bernice. 

Gilbert made a movement to withdraw into the con- 
servatory, but Sylvia detained him. He was anxious 
to search the grounds, in hopes of discovering Bernice, 
and he submitted to his detention with an ill-grace. 

“ What do you want ?” he asked with an exhibition 
of surliness. 

“ I want to know if you were in the conservatory 
during some fifteen minutes previous to Lord Chet- 
wynd’s * optical illusion ?’ ” demanded Miss Monk, with 
sarcastic emphasis. 

Monk replied in the affirmative. 

“ And you saw no one enter or go out ?” 

Monk hastened to utter a negative. 

“ I don’t believe you,” said the refined Sylvia, with 
considerable rudeness. “ I know better. I saw the 
ghost, if it was a ghost, and so did you. What is your 
object in denying the fact to me ?'* 

“ I have no object. I saw no ghost, and I can swear 
to my denial, if you choose. You must have been read- 
ing Mrs. Crowe. You would do better to think of the 
great victory you have won. I advise you to hasten 
your marriage. I have nearly run through my thousand 
pounds, and I want more. You remember that you 
promised me an annuity of a thousand pounds on your 
becoming Lady Chetwynd. Hurry up the marriage. 
That is my advice ” 

He kissed his fingers to her carelessly, and sauntered 
away into the conservatory. 

Miss Monk looked after him with a puzzled frown. 


i?4 


The Haiuited Husband. 


“ I wish I knew what scheme occupies him now,” she 
thought. “ Gilbert has changed during the past year. 
I must confess he is getting too deep for me. I can’t 
fathom him. What prompts him to deny that he saw 
that figure in white ? If it was a spectre, he must have 
seen it, since it was visible to both Roy and me. If it 
was not a spectre, what was it ? On my soul, I believe 
Gilbert knows.” 

With this conviction, Miss Monk went up to her rooms. 

She found old Ragee in the dressing-room, just 
unlocking the doors of the precious East Indian cabinet. 
The old ayah started at Miss Monk’s entrance, and hast- 
ened to lock the doors opening into the hall. She then 
returned to the cabinet, and opened the secret compart- 
ment and took out the tiny gold box of rare East Indian 
poisons. 

“ What are you going to do ?” asked Miss Monk, sink- 
ing into an easy-chair. 

“ I want to see that my globules have not been tam- 
pered with,” responded old Ragee. “I feel uneasy, 
Missy, about that ghost. It can’t be possible that I 
made a mistake in the vial, but I intend to see. If I had 
made a mistake the girl would have died in her coffin 
all the same — no, she would have recovered her con- 
sciousness at the end of three days. It’s all right, Missy, 
but I’ll just make sure.” 

Miss Monk watched her attendant with languid 
interest, while the ayah opened the two vials we have 
before described. 

“ There were one hundred globules in each,” mut- 
tered the old woman. “ I took one out of vial number 
two, leaving ninety-nine. I will count them.” 

She proceeded to do so. 

“ It’s right,” she announced. “ There are just ninety- 
nine remaining. I can’t tell what made me so foolish, 


The Figure in White. 


175 


but just as soon as you spoke of the ghost, I felt a 
desire to look at these vials.” 

“ Look at the vial number three,” said Miss Monk. 
“ Still, that’s all nonsense. It’s all right, only there’s 
one thing sure, Ragee — Gilbert knows something about 
that ghost, or whatever it was. He swears he saw 
nothing. I wish I knew what game of his own he was 
playing. There’s one thing sure — he knows the secret 
of that mysterious intruder of to-night.” 

The old ayah’s weird eyes gleamed with a sudden 
light. 

She hurriedly seized upon the third vial, opened it, 
and began hastily to count its contents. A look of dis- 
may came over her face when she had finished. 

“ Can’t you make it count right ?” asked Miss Monk, 
with sudden interest. 

“ There’s only ninety-eight globules here,” answered 
the old woman, blankly. 

“ And there were a hundred ?” 

“ Exactly that — a hundred in each vial.” 

“ You may have dropped a couple and Miss Monk 
began to search. 

“ Stay, Missy,” said the old ayah, in a tone of deep 
significance. “ Answer me a question : Was Gilbert 
at home on the day that Lady Chetwynd was taken 
ill ?” 

“ Yes. Don’t you remember that he was in my bou- 
doir before dinner ?” 

“ Was he in your boudoir before we opened this cab- 
inet, and had our conversation about Lady Chetwynd ?” 

“ Yes ; he went out, and I called yon, and we came in 
here.” 

“ Ah ! And he was back in three days’ time ? ” 

“ Yes. I telegraphed him that Lady Chetwynd was 


176 The Haunted Husband. 


dead. You know all this. Why do you ask so many 
unimportant questions ?” 

“ Simply to confirm my own suspicions and remem- 
brances,” said the old woman, her black face growing 
yellow. “ Missy, Gilbert. Monk is as keen as a tiger 
that scents blood. He suspected us. When he went 
out from your room that day he must have slipped in 
here. The doors were locked, it is true. How did he 
get in ? With a bit of wire, perhaps. He is keen, Gil- 
bert Monk. He hid in here ; he heard all we said. I 
remember I went to my own room for another vial. 
Only one link is wanting to make the chain of my sus- 
picions complete and deepen them into dead certainty. 
If you had been absent from this room a moment — ” 

Miss Monk uttered a singular cry. 

“ I was absent,” she ejaculated. “ Lady Chetwynd 
came to the door of my boudoir for a piece of music.” 

“ Then all is clear. Gilbert changed the globules, 
and took an extra one out of this vial number three. 
He was back in three days. He gave her ladyship 
more of the drug. She was buried. He rescued her. 
He has hidden her somewhere all these months. Lady 
Chetwynd lives. It was no ghost, but Lady Chetwynd 
herself, whom you saw to-night !” 



CHAPTER XIII. 

A DISTURBING PRESENCE. 

The announcement of old Ragee’s instinctive con- 
viction that Lady Chetwynd lived, and that it was her- 
self and not her spectre Sylvia Monk had seen, was 
delivered with a startling vehemence that for an 
instant almost carried conviction also to Sylvia’s heart. 
She looked appalled. The handsome swarthy face lost 
its deep red stain in cheeks and lips ; the dull black 
eyes opened wide in an expression of utter terror and 
abhorrence. 

“ Alive ! Bernice alive !” she whispered, hollowly. 
“ Impossible !” 

“ Not impossible, Missy, if Gilbert Monk should have 
circumvented our plans,” said old Ragee, nodding her 
turbaned head, her witch-like features working convul- 
sively. “ I did not suspect him of being so deep, but 
depend upon it he was hid in these rooms upon that 
day so long ago when we planned Lady Chetwynd’s 
death, and he changed the globules, and has now in 
his keeping the globules you should have given young 
Lady Chetwynd.” 

“ I don’t believe it,” said Miss Monk, with sudden 
vehemence. “ I tell you it is not so. I would rather 
believe that I saw a ghost to-night than that I saw 

[i77] 


i/8 


The Haunted Husband. 


the living Bernice Chetwynd. I can prove to my own 
satisfaction that it was not Bernice. If it were the true 
Lady Chetwynd in the body, where has she been all 
these fifteen months since her burial ?” 

“Gilbert might have kept her out of sight, for pur- 
poses of his own.” 

“ If it had been Lady Chetwynd in the flesh,” 
demanded Sylvia Monk, “ why did she not speak ? 
Why did she not rush into the room and throw herself 
in her husband’s arms ?” 

The old East Indian woman shook her head. The 
question was to her also unanswerable. 

Sylvia Monk’s face began to glow with a certain 
triumph. i 

“ Ah, you cannot answer !” she exclaimed with a 
thrill of jubilance in her silvery tones. “ I thought 
not. And Gilbert was too unmoved and quiet to have 
suffered recent alarm. You have made a mistake in 
counting, or there were not originally a hundred glob- 
ules in each vial,” declared Sylvia, positively. “ We 
have been scared beyond all reason. We will be 
watchful of Gilbert, but I am persuaded that I saw a 
spectre to-night.” 

She leaned back on the cushions of her chair in a 
delicious content. Old Ragee locked up her tiny gold 
box of deadly drugs, and restored them to the secret 
compartment of the Indian cabinet. As she locked the 
silver-mounted door of the latter, and pushed the silver 
butterfly into its place over the intricate lock, she shook 
her weird turbaned head and muttered, in a tone too 
low to reach Sylvia's ears : 

“If Missy is satisfied, let her remain so. But as for 
me, I am not satisfied. I’ll watch Gilbert. I’ll exam- 
ine his trunk and clothes in search of the missing glob- 
ule. I’ll dog him like his shadow. I’ll know if a 


A Disturbing Presence. 


1 79 


spectre has come to haunt Chetwynd Park — if some 
strange woman is personating Lady Chetwynd — or if 
her ladyship is alive. If she’s alive, there’s danger 
for us ahead, and I must be on my guard to meet it. 
If she’s alive, she’ll not be living long.” 

The old woman set her lips together grimly, and a 
menacing look gleamed in her small, furtive eyes. 

While Sylvia Monk was thus lulling herself into a 
false security, and while old Ragee was determining to 
probe the mystery that was so fraught with danger to 
her idolized young mistress, the lord of Chetwynd was 
in his wife’s rooms, a prey to the keenest agitation and 
distress. 

He had walked through the long-deserted rooms, no- 
ing that everything was precisely as Bernice had left 
it. Here was her favorite chair by the hearth of the 
boudoir ; here was her desk ; there were her books, her 
sketches ; in yonder was her open dressing-case, with 
its gold mountings, its cut-glass bottles with golden 
stoppers, its boxes of exquisitely chased gold marked 
with his wife’s monogram ; in the spacious wardrobes 
of the dressing-room were the garments she had worn. 
The rooms seemed instinct with her presence. Chet- 
wynd half expected to see her arise from some chair, or 
enter at the door, the impression of her near presence 
was so strangely vivid. 

He walked for hours in the long closed rooms, until 
the fires burned low. Then, with his strange anxiety 
and restlessness still upon him, he retired to Bernice’s 
bed-chamber. The bed was the same as when she had 
used to occupy it. He knelt down by the bedside and 
sobbed aloud. 

For a long time he knelt there, and gradually he grew 
calm with the calmness of his old despair. He arose 
and turned down the gas-light to a dim half-light, in 


The Haunted Husband. 


1 80 


which every object in the room was distinctly visible, 
and then he flung himself, fully dressed, upon a low 
couch before the hearth. He could not sleep in the bed 
in which he believed that Bernice had died. 

He lay with closed eyes, a travelling rug drawn over 
him. He was tired and worn, and gradually a sense of 
sleepiness stole over him, and he dozed uneasily. 

He was aroused suddenly, with the swiftness of 
thought, by a soft touch on his forehead. He did not 
open his eyes, and the touch descended again, as softly 
as a snowflake falls, upon his mustached lips. The 
touch was slightly chill, but it was like a silent, flutter- 
ing kiss. 

He stirred — he opened his eyes. 

And then he saw again the vision that he had seen 
hours before in the lower rooms. He beheld Bernice 
— Bernice in the development of a magnificent and 
splendid beauty — with the tender, innocent eyes he 
had loved ; with the sensitive mouth ; with the lithe, 
light, graceful, figure, and wearing still the white robes 
in which she had been buried. He lay still, scarcely 
daring to breathe. 

She had glided from him to the distance of a few 
feet, and was regarding him with an ineffable love and 
anguish. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no 
words came. She spread her bared arms, as if to enfold 
him. 

“ Bernice !” cried out the young lord, in a sharp, shrill 
voice. “ Bernice, speak to me !” 

She shook her head sorrowfully, and slowly retreated 
toward his dressing-room. 

With a startling cry, he sprang up from his couch and 
bounded toward her. 

She continued her swift retreat, looking backward at 
him over her shoulder with that radiant face of love and 


A Disturbing Presence. 


18 


sorrow, and disappeared in the dressing-room. The 
door closed behind her. Chetwynd dashed it open, but 
the vision was gone. 

He explored the bath-room adjoining ; he ran out 
into the great hall, the door leading into which from 
the bath-room being unlocked ; he searched the great 
empty guest-chambers ; but he found no trace of his 
strange visitant. 

His search aroused Miss Monk, and she appeared in a 
scarlet dressing-gown, her feet encased in slippers of 
white down, looking frightened, while old Ragee peered 
over her shoulder. Chetwynd apologized for arousing 
Sylvia, and made some unintelligible excuse, but kept 
up his wild search, being half beside himself. 

He knocked at Gilbert Monk’s door, but there came 
no response. The door was unlocked, and he entered 
the room. A light and fire was burning but Monk was 
not there. 

Considerably puzzled at Monk’s absence from his 
rooms an hour past midnight, the marquis returned to 
the hall, where S)dvia still stood, wondering and 
bewildered. 

“Did you hear burglars, Roy ?” cried Sylvia. “Is 
not Gilbert in his room ?” 

“ No ; he is not there. I — I fancied I saw something, 
Sylvia, and I came to look. That’s all. Good 
night.” 

“ Was it — was it the spectre again, Roy ?” 

“Yes,” said Chetwynd, desperately. “I fancied I 
saw her again. Good-night.” 

He went into his rooms and closed his doors, and 
Miss Monk, in great perturbation, retired to her own 
apartments. The two woman urged themselves into a 
state of calmness after a little, but Lord Chetwynd 
walked his floors all the long night, and watched, and 


182 


The Haunted Husband ’ 


listened, and waited. But the spectre did not come 
again. 

Gilbert Monk, after leaving his sister in the drawing- 
room, had hurried out of doors, as we have said, in search 
of Bernice. The one great idea that possessed him 
was to find her. He comprehended that he stood upon 
the brink of exposure. 

He searched the lawn, the shrubbery, the rocks over- 
hanging the sea, the strip of beach, the boat and bath 
houses, and penetrated far into the park, peeping into 
nooks and glades and coverts, but he did not find her. 
He hurried in and out among the thick shadows of the 
trees for hours, and at last the conviction came to him 
that she had in some way eluded him. 

“ She may be hidden in the house all this while,” he 
thought. “ She may have gone to my room to plead 
with me to release her from her vow. Little Puritan ! 
She is truth itself. But what a test for her, to stand 
before Chetwynd to-night, and not be able to speak to 
him ! The girl’s as brave and true as she is beauti- 
ful.” 

He acted upon his new idea, hurrying into the house 
and up to his own rooms. It was past eleven o’clock, 
and the lights were all turned off, or burning dimly. 
There was no one in the great hall, into which the faint 
moonlight streamed through the end windows. He 
opened his door. The fire and light were burning, but 
no person was in his room. It seemed to him, however, 
that some one had been there recently. The rug was 
disarranged, as if one had knelt upon it, and the fire 
seemed to have been lately stirred to a brighter blaze 
by an unskillful hand. He was sure Bernice had stolen 
in here in his absence, and had remained some minutes 
to warm herself, and in anticipation of his return. 

“ She’ll come again,” he thought. “ She’s like an 


A Disturbing Presence. 


1 8 


uncaged leopardess since she saw her husband. I’ll 
wait here for her." 

He left his door unlocked that she might enter 
silently, and flung himself into an easy chair in an 
obscure corner, and waited for her appearance. But 
the time wore on and she did not come. The great 
clock struck the hour of twelve, but still Bernice did 
not come. 

Monk waited until a great fear came to him that 
Bernice might have entered her old rooms — might have 
seen her husband there — and carried away by the 
supreme ecstasy of the moment, and her joy at seeing 
him, might have permitted him to clasp her in his arms. 
A cold sweat sprang to Monk’s visage. He pulled off 
his boots and put on a pair of cork-soled slippers, and 
then stole out again into the hall. 

He crept to the various doors opening into the hall 
from Lord Chetwynd’s suit of private rooms. He was 
certain that Chetwynd was in the bed-chamber. The 
sound of gentle and regular breathing became at last 
perceptible. Chetwynd was within — asleep. Bernice 
was not there. Yet he waited, watching, listening. 

How the minutes dragged ! At last he heard, or 
fancied he heard, soft footfalls upon the carpet within 
— the rustle of a woman’s silken dress. How his heart 
beat now ! He bent closer still at the keyhole. Ah ! 
now he heard the cry of Chetwynd as he started up 
from his sleep — the name of Bernice ! She was there ! 

Monk could have beat upon the door in his agony. 
He was sure that all was over now — that Bernice had 
broken her oath — that she had revealed her living 
presence to her husband. What remained for him but 
flight ? 

But now the door of the bath-room opened suddenly, 
and a slender, white-robed figure stole swiftly into the 


184 


The Haunted Husband. 


hall, as if pursued, and glided like a beam of light 
along the hall to the rear intersecting corridor. It was 
Bernice ! Monk flew after her in his list slippers as 
silently as she. She ran fleetly down the long hall and 
turned aside into the corridor. Monk behind her. 

They had scarcely passed beyond the great hall when 
Lord Chetwynd opened the door of the bath-room, and 
came out in wild pursuit. But Bernice and Monk were 
both beyond the range of his vision. The seeming 
spectre was flying along the dim corridor toward an 
unused portion of the extensive mansion, not stopping 
or looking back. She gained another hall, from which 
a flight of stairs ascended, and went up the steps with 
still rapidity. Monk came swiftly a little way behind 
her. She must have been conscious of the pursuit, but 
still she did not cast a backward look over her shoul- 
der. Up one flight, then another, and Bernice had 
gained a region of unused attics in the more ancient 
portion of the dwelling. 

She ran across a dim passage into a little bare and 
empty room, lit up by the moonlight that streamed in 
at the dormer windows. She had run into a trap, and 
seemed to realize the fact, for she ran about the room 
wildly, and then retreated to a farther corner, uttering 
a low, strange cry, and covering her face with her 
hands. 

Monk entered the room and closed the door. 

Bernice, in her moonlit corner, panted and trembled. 
Monk pushed the bolt home in its socket, and ap- 
proached her. 

“ Bernice !” he said, softly. 

The girl started, with a ringing cry, and looked up at 
him with distended eyes. 

“Gilbert!” she ejaculated. “I — I thought it was 
Roy.” 


A Disturbing Presence. 385 


“ No, it is I. I heard from Mrs. Crowl that you had 
strangely disappeared from Mawr Castle, and I knew 
you would come here. I arrived myself only to-night/' 

“ With Roy ? Oh, how he is changed, Gilbert ! My 
poor darling ! How grave and stern he has grown ! 
And how his soul leaped out at me from his eyes ! 
He is looking for me now. Hark ! Is he coming this 
way ?” 

“ No, Bernice. These rooms have not been used in 
years. He will not find you.” 

“ I must go to him,” cried the girl, in her sweet, 
impetuous voice. “ Now — now — this minute ! I knew 
you were at the Park, and I went to your old room, 
Gilbert, but you were not there. Release me from my 
oath. I must go to my husband.” 

“Bernice, listen to me, I have something to say to 
you first — ” 

“ Not a word. Why, he’s looking for me now. He 
thinks me a ghost. Release me from my oath. I 
must go to him. Is he calling? Let me go, Gilbert. 
In God’s name, let me go to my husband !” 

“ Not yet, Bernice — not until you listen to what I 
have to say,” said Monk, firmly. “ Chetwynd thinks 
you a spectre, as you say. He will go back to his 
room presently. There’s time enough ; but you must 
listen to me.” 

“ Then speak quickly. How can I wait ? He thinks 
me dead— he wants me — ” 

“ How do you know that he wants you ?” asked 
Monk in crisp, hard tones. 

Bernice scarcely seemed to understand. 

Monk repeated the question. 

“ How do I know ? Why, because I want him. Oh, 
I do love him so ! I must go to him Release me from 
my oath, Gilbert—’- 


The Haunted Husband. 


1 86 


“ Hear me first. Bernice, I have thought you the 
bravest, the noblest, the most generous of women, but 
you are selfish like the rest. You are not capable of 
self-sacrifice.” 

“ What self-sacrifice ?” asked the girl, in a sharp whis- 
per. 

“ Are you capable of a sublime self-abnegation ?” 
demanded Monk, his black eyes all aflame. “ Can you 
immolate Self on the altar of your husband’s happiness. 
I have thought that there was in you the stuff of which 
martyrs are made ; but, bah ! you are like all the rest, 
regardful only of your own petty love. And yet there 
have been women who have sacrificed themselves for 
their husbands — ” 

“ Gilbert, what do you mean ?” cried Bernice, her 
voice ringing sharply on the air. 

“What was your last act before falling into the trance 
in which you were consigned to your tomb?” asked 
Monk, in a stern voice. 

Bernice seemed about to answer, but paused, deathly 
white. 

“You remember? Your last act was to clasp the 
hands of Chetwynd and Sylvia Monk together. And 
what were your last words ?” 

No answer came from the girl’s white lips. She began 
to understand his drift. 

“ Your last words were to beg Chetwynd, after a suit- 
able season of mourning for you, to marry Sylvia Monk,” 
declared Gilbert, in his passionless voice. “ Was it not 
so ?” 

Bernice looked at him dumbly, a world of gathering 
woe in her great vivid eyes of gloom. 

“You do not contradict me. Your last act before 
your seeming death was to reunite those two who had 
been so terribly parted. And they were glad you gave 


A Disturbing Presence. 187 


them back to each other. After consigning you to the 
burial vault, Chetwynd returned home and had a pri- 
vate interview with Sylvia. In that interview all was 
made straight between them. Chetwynd thought it 
best to spend the year of his mourning abroad, and he 
went. He would not expose his future wife to malic- 
ious comment. He returned to-day. This very even- 
ing Chetwynd and Sylvia renewed their former engage- 
ment. Your day is past — it is another’s now ! Your 
place is filled. You are not wanted here. The revela- 
tion that you live will only bring dismay and horror. 
Bernice, from my soul I pity you ! My heart bleeds 
for you !” 

The girl dropped silently on her knees in the wide 
stream of moonlight, and bowed her head low on her 
breast. 

“ There have been women,” said Monk, after a long 
silence, “ so self-abnegating that upon such a return to 
life they would go away in silence, without revealing 
the blasting secret of their continued life. Are there 
such women now ?” 

There was a long and terrible pause. Monk waited 
in breathless suspense for her response, but he had 
long to wait. At last her low and broken voice cut 
sharply through the stillness, with the words : 

“ But I am his wife, you know. We said, ‘ until death 
do us part,’ and I’m not dead, Gilbert. His second 
marriage while I live would be illegal.” 

Not so. Death annuls all ties. You seemed to die, 
and were buried. You are supposed to be dead — you 
are dead, in the eyes of the law,” said the villain, with 
an air of reluctant sincerity. “ If you were to re-appear, 
it is possible that your marriage ceremony might have 
to be performed again to make you Chetwynd’s wife. 
I repeat, that in the eyes of the law you are dead. 


1 88 


The Haunted Husband . 


Chetwynd’s second marriage would be legal and 
valid.” 

The girl, brought up in a far island of the sea, know- 
ing nothing about law, profoundly ignorant upon many 
points on which an English school-girl is well informed, 
having implicit reliance upon and faith in the man who 
had rescued her from the tomb, believed him ! 

“ I will go away,” she said, in a voice so strange that 
Monk scarcely recognized it. “ I am dead in the eyes 
of the law. It will be no crime for them to marry. I 
heard him call her his ‘ promised wife I saw him kiss 
her. They shall be happy. I love him so well that I 
will die even for his sake !” 

“ And you will go back to Mawr Castle ?” 

The girl nodded dumbly. 

“ I’ll find Flack. He shall hire a carriage, and drive 
you to some station beyond Eastbourne. It would not 
be well for you to be seen even in Eastbourne. Flack 
will accompany you back to the castle. You have done 
a brave, grand and noble thing in giving up Roy, Ber- 
nice. I admire you for your sublime self-sacrifice. I 
will make your future my charge. I will be your 
brother, will watch over you, and try to make you 
happy. Wait here, Bernice, while I go to find Flack 
and send him for the carriage. I will return and see 
you safely out and on your way with him.” 

Bernice again nodded assent, and he went out, leav- 
ing her alone in the bare, cold room, in the pale stream 
of moonlight. 

He made his way down to the edge of the park, and 
readily found Flack, who was smoking a pipe in the 
shadow of the trees. Monk communicated the fact of 
his success, and sent his ally to the little inn at Chet- 
wynd-by-sea for the required carriage. Having seen 
him depart, fully instructed, Monk stole back again 


A Disturbing Presence . 


189 


into the house. All was still now in rooms and corri- 
dors. He crept along- the dim passages, and ascended 
the stairs to the attics. He entered the little room in 
which he had left Bernice. 

She was not there ! He stood as if transfixed. 

What had happened ? Had she been discovered ? 
Had she repented her self-sacrifice ? 

His wild eyes detected the gleam of paper on the 
floor in frhe broad sheen of the moonlight. He bounded 
toward it and picked it up. It was a leaf from Bernice’s 
note-book, and there was writing on it. He struck a 
fusee, and read the irregularly scrawled words. They 
had been written by Bernice, and were as follows : 

“ Gilbert : I have given him up. I shall respect my 
oath not to reveal my identity ; but I cannot leave him 
yet. One more look at his dear face — to hear his voice 
again — to see him sleeping — surely I may be permitted 
these without fear of wronging any one. Do not search 
for me. I may go back to Mawr Castle in time — not 
now. My only thought now is that he is here and I 
must be near him, myself unseen.” 

That was all. Monk sought for her through all the 
hours of that night. He listened at Chetwynd’s door ; 
he was in an agony of unrest and foreboding, for his 
search was vain. He did not find her ! 



CHAPTER XIV. 

REALITY UNDER THE SEEMING. 

Upon the morning after the double appearance of the 
“ Spectre” of Lady Chetwynd at Chetwynd Park, the' 
family met at the breakfast- table at the usual hour, 
every member bearing evidence, in heavy eyes and 
pallid face of having passed a sleepless and anxious 
night. The young marquis had been so absorbed in 
thoughts of Bernice throughout the night as to have 
quite forgotten his second betrothal to Miss Monk. 

But Sylvia, as may be supposed, had not forgotten it. 
There was a tenderness in her manner, a soft reliance 
upon him, a loving deference, that recalled to Lord 
Chetwynd the fact that she was his betrothed wife. 
His face, however, did not brighten at the remem- 
brance, and the haggard look in his blue eyes even 
deepened. He was strangely silent throughout the 
meal, although Sylvia and Gilbert Monk, who came in 
late, were both seemingly gay, and free from anxiety 
and care. 

After breakfast Miss Monk took Lord Chetwynd’s 
arm with the air of one having a right to its support, 
and walked through the great hall to the winter morn- 
ing-room. 

“Oh, Roy,” she said, “ how happy I am ! Your wife, 
[190I 


Reality Under the Seeming. 


191 


and mistress of Chetwynd Park ? Life holds no joys 
that can compare with these. And, Roy, don’t think 
me un maidenly if I speak to you regarding our be- 
trothal. As the poor dependent, my life is a burden to 
me. I think it would be but fair and just to me that 
our engagement should be proclaimed at once. My 
position will then be made clear, and I shall not feel 
compelled to seek other shelter.” 

Chetwynd winced a little. He would have preferred 
not to announce his engagement of marriage so soon 
after his return home, but he reluctantly acquiesced to 
Miss Monk’s desire. 

“ I knew you would think as I do,” said Sylvia, in a 
tone of satisfaction. “ I presumed upon your consent to 
my wishes, and have already communicated the fact of 
our engagement to Mrs. Skewer and to Ragee. I shall 
write a note to Lady Welby to-day, informing her also, 
and she will spread the news throughout Sussex. Lady 
Welby will came to see me at once. And, Roy, when 
she asks me how soon we are to be married, what shall 
I say to her ?'* 

Chetwynd started, and shrank from Sylvia percepti- 
bly. 

“I do not know— I had not thought,” he said. “I 
leave the date of our marriage to you, Sylvia. Any 
date you may fix upon will be agreeable to me.” 

“Then let me say this day two months,” said Miss 
Monk, vivaciously. “ It is now March. We will be 
married in May, in the season of early flowers and 
good weather. We will have a grand breakfast here at 
the Park, and a garden party, a dinner and a ball, to 
celebrate our marriage. And we will then go to the 
Continent for the summer, dividing our time between 
Baden-Baden, Spa, Wiesbaden, Vichy and Trouville. I 
will do you credit, Roy. I shall be gay and charming, 


192 


The Haunted Husband. 


and as sumptuously dressed as Eugenie in the height 
of her glory. Ah, that reminds me,” and she clasped 
her jewelled hands more tightly on the marquis’s arm, 
and regarded him with an affectation of shyness and 
embarrassment, “ I would like to assume my new rank 
and position with suitable paraphernalia. Is not that a 
nice, long, suitable word ?” and she forced a laugh. “ I 
am already a pensioner upon your bounty, Roy — ” 

“ Not so, Sylvia. Do not use an expression like that. 
You have been a dear sister to me, and have occupied 
an honored position in my household. You have been 
no pensioner or dependent. It is my wish also that you 
should have a suitable trousseau,” and he sighed 
heavily. “ I will give you a blank check to-day, and 
you can order your jewels, shawls, laces, and the rest, 
at your pleasure.” 

Sylvia fairly beamed upon him in her delight and 
gratitude. She flung her arms around his neck and 
kissed him. He returned the caress in a quiet, dispas- 
sionate manner, that at another time would have 
angered her. She talked to him gaily for a while, 
until the bailiff made his appearance, and then she 
glided away to her own room, triumphantly happy. 

“ Everything is going on splendidly, Ragee,” she 
said, entering h§r dressing-room with a wild waltz. 
“ Chetwynd consents to the immediate announcement 
of our engagement ; and I have appointed this day two 
months for the marriage. He will give me a blank 
check to-day for my trousseau. He cannot retreat 
now. I am sure to be Lady Chetwynd. Quit brooding 
over that mystery of the ghost for an hour, and help me 
to make out my lists for orders and shopping. We 
have time enough to studjr the mystery afterwards.” 

Miss Monk sat down at her desk and wrote an affec- 
tionate little note to her friend, Lady Welby, announc- 


Reality Under the Seeming , ; 


193 


ing her engagement of marriage to Lord Chetwynd. 
Her next letters were to milliners and dressmakers, 
ordering a magnificent trousseau. She also wrote to 
various business houses in London for samples of goods 
and garments to be sent to Chetwynd Park for her 
inspection, thus ordering jewels, shawls, rare laces, 
and a host of other feminine adornments. 

She went down to luncheon, meeting the marquis, 
Gilbert Monk and Mr. Sanders, who had been invited 
to remain. If was evident that the bailiff had not been 
informed of the new relations existing between his 
employer and Sylvia. The young lady awaited only an 
opportunity to proclaim her good fortune, which soon 
occurred, and the bailiff hastened to offer his congratu- 
lations. 

After the repast, Gilbert Monk withdrew apparently 
to his own room, and was seen no more until dinner. 
The intervening hours were actually spent by him in 
an examination of the disused portions of the grand 
old house in the hope of finding Bernice. 

Night found him again disappointed. 

Lord Chetwynd retired to his room that night with a 
sense of disappointment, half convinced that he had 
been indeed the victim of a freak of a disordered imag- 
ination. Yet he sat late before the fire in his bed- 
chamber, with his eyes fixed with intense expectancy 
upon the door of the bath-room, praying that the 
“illusion” might be repeated. 

He prayed in vain. The fire burned low on his 
hearth. The silence of midnight lay like a spell upon 
the house, and yet his straining eyes failed to behold 
the vision they longed for. And at last, wearied and 
hopeless, he flung himself on his couch and dropped 
into a troubled sleep. 

He had been slumbering more than an hour, and 


i 9 4 


Fhe Flaunted Husband. 


his deepening breathing sounded through the hushed 
room, and the light burned low, and the embers 
were dying on the hearth, when the door of the 
dressing-room softly opened, and the “ spectre ” stole 
into the room. No instinct warned him that Bernice 
was near. The pulses of his heart stirred not as she 
stole through the dimness — like a ghost, indeed — to 
his side, and bent above him in an agony of love 
and tenderness. Her kisses fell like snow-flakes softly 
on his hair, his face, his hands, and he felt them not. 
He had been much awake on the previous night, and 
Nature was now taking her recompense. 

“ My darling ! Oh, my darling !” was the mute cry 
that filled Bernice’s heart. “ The new love will never 
worship you as the old love did. Sylvia cannot under- 
stand you as Bernice did. Oh, it is hard to be thought 
dead, and yet to live — to know that regret for one is 
over, and that one is no longer missed. It is hard to 
see one’s place filled — to know that another’s caresses 
are dearest now, another’s voice sweetest, another’s love 
most prized. I should have died in my trance. Oh, 
God ! why did I not die ?” 

She bowed her head, and her tears dropped like a 
silent rain upon the fair golden hair of her young 
husband. And he who loved her better than his life 
lay there sleeping heavily, hearing nothing, seeing 
nothing, knowing nothing of her nearness to him. 
Exhaustion fettered him as a drug might have done. 

Bernice kissed his hands softly. She yearned over 
him. And yet she dared not betray to him her presence. 
Her oath restrained her. 

A little while she lingered, until he stirred uneasily 
in his sleep, and then she silently flitted away, going 
into the dressing-room. 

She had hidden in the attics all day. She was cold 


Reality Under ~the Seeming. 


195 


and hungry, having eaten nothing since the previous 
day. She stood before the hearth in her dressing-room 
in an attitude of flight, harkening intently, and warming 
herself. There was a silver tray on the table, with a 
half bottle of wine and some biscuits, which had been 
brought up by the butler for Lord Chetwynd late in the 
evening, the butler having observed how little his lord- 
ship had eaten at table since his return home. The 
little attention to the marquis stood Bernice in good 
stead. She drank a portion of the wine and ate the 
biscuits as she grew warm and comfortable. 

But she might not linger here. It was time to go. 

She had worn a dark long cloak of waterproof cloth 
on her journey from Wales, and it was hidden in an 
upper room now. She had chosen to lay it aside during 
her night excursion, deeming it safer, if she were met, 
to be taken for a spectre. The cloak was not warm 
enough to protect her from the chill of the damp 
unused rooms which she made her haunt, and she stole 
now to one of the wardrobes and pulled out a lower 
drawer in which she had kept her shawls. The shawls 
were there now as she had left them. Her dresses 
hung in the press, and were folded on the shelves, just 
as Fifine had arranged them. She took out an Indian 
cashmere shawl which Chetwynd had bought for her in 
London, and wrapped its soft folds around her. Then 
she closed the drawer, and crept to the door and lis- 
tened. Not a sound was to be heard without. 

She opened the door and crept out into the hall, 
stealing along in the dimness like a swift shadow. She 
crossed the wide hall to place herself at greater dis- 
tance from Chetwynd’s rooms, and so unconsciously 
passed close to the doors of the suit occupied by Miss 
Monk; 

She passed the dressing-room and bed-chamber of her 


9 6 


The H Minted Husband. 


East Indian rival, her heart beating, it seemed to her, 
like a drum. As she came abreast the door of Miss 
Monk’s bath-room, which had been ajar all the evening, 
it silently opened, and the witch-like figure of old 
Ragee crept out like a flash. Bernice caught a glimpse 
only of the dusky East Indian face, which resembled a 
face cut from a walnut more than anything else, a red 
turban, a pair of outstretched arms, and the gleam of 
sinister eyes, and then she flew before her strange pur- 
suer, without a word of outcry. 

The old woman sprang upon her like a panther, 
clutching her shawl. Bernice loosened her hold upon 
it and flitted away without it, like the white spectre she 
seemed. She hurried into the branching corridor in a 
panic, but the old woman did not pursue her. Ragee 
clutched the shawl tightly in her arms and hurried back 
into the bath-room. No one had been aroused. She 
went into Miss Monk’s bed-chamber. Sylvia was sit- 
ting up in bed, anxious and expectant. 

“Well?” said the young lady, impatiently. “You 
have watched all the evening, Ragee, depriving me of 
my sleep, and what good have you gained by it?” 

“ This !” cried old Ragee, dashing the shawl down 
upon the bed. “ Do you know that shawl ? I have just 
seen the spectre ! It came out of the late Lady Chet- 
wynd’s dressing-room. It was dressed in white, only it 
wore this shawl to protect it from the cold. It crossed 
the hall. When it came alongside the bath-room I 
darted out and grasped the shawl, dragging it from its 
shoulders. The spectre was flesh and blood ! — the 
shawl proves that. I saw its face ; it was white with 
terror ; it was changed and beautiful ; but it was the 
face of Lady Chetwynd ! — the face of the living mar- 
chioness ! It is as I have believed. Gilbert Monk 
overheard our scheming, and outwitted us. The girl is 


The New Celebrity. 


19 7 


alive, I tell you ! Why she does not reveal herself to 
her husband I cannot imagine. She has but to speak 
to send you and me to prison. Our safety lies in prompt 
action. That pretended death must be made a real- 
ity r 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE NEW CELEBRITY. 

We have now to relate the experience of Mr. Tem- 
pest, the great explorer of China and Tartary, who had 
been the travelling companion of Lord Chetwynd upon 
the return to England from Genoa. 

Mr. Tempest was devoted to science, and his explora- 
tions and discoveries had made a great sensation in the 
scientific world. He had sent home books to be pub- 
lished under the auspices of the Royal Geographical 
Society, and his name had become in England a house- 
hold word. 

Upon the morning after the departure of Lord Chet- 
wynd for Sussex — the morning after Mr. Tempest had 
read in the newspaper of that disaster at sea in which 
Mr. and Mrs. Gwellan had perished — the great explorer 
exhumed his manuscripts, diaries and reports from his 
portmanteau, and made his way to the headquarters of 
the Royal Geographical Society. 

He found himself received with flattering attentions. 
Members thronged around him to shake hands with 
him. Before he left the Society rooms he had received 
a dozen invitations to dinner from men of rank and 
learning. Tempest would have declined them all. 
His heart was sore with the recent wound inflicted by 


7 he Haunted Husband. 


the notice of “ Bernice Gwellan’s ” death. He wanted 
to return quietly whence he had come, but so many 
“ Fellows ” of the R. G. S. combined to combat his 
resolves that he consented to remain a month in Eng- 
land at the least, and accepted an invitation to dine 
with a learned F. R. G. S. — one Sir Harry Fortescue — 
that very day, and an invitation for the morrow with a 
party of scientific gentlemen. 

“You look harassed, Tempest,” said Sir Harry Fortes- 
cue, as at last he walked out of the society rooms arm in 
arm with the great explorer, on their way to the baronet’s 
club, into which Tempest had been persuaded to “ drop” 
for an hour. “You think we shall run you to death, 
but when the ladies — the most indefatigable lion hunters 
in the world — come upon you, you will have to surrender 
at discretion. Have you been much in English society, 
my dear sir ?” 

“ Not of late years,” replied Mr. Tempest. “ I don’t 
like society, Sir Harry. My fifteen years, more or less, 
in Tartary, have not fitted me to grace a lady’s boudoir. 
I should like to ask after a few whom I remember. As 
yet I have made no inquiries. Where is young Lord 
Grafton nowadays ?” 

“Dead. He died ten years since.” 

“ Indeed !” said the explorer. “ Can you tell me any- 
thing of the Right Honorable Mrs. William Molyneux, 
a great beauty and belle a dozen years ago ?” 

He asked the question with seeming carelessness 
and indifference, his face averted. He might have 
inquired, judging from his tone, after some chance 
acquaintance of former times. But his face had grown 
suddenly pale, his forehead was dewed with sweat, and 
his mouth quivered under his beard. He awaited the 
baronet’s answer in a breathless suspense. 

“ I remember Mrs. Molyneux,” said Sir Harry. “ Who 


The New Celebrity. 


l 99 


does not ? She was, as you say, a great beauty. She 
had some trouble with her husband, I believe. I never 
understood what the trouble was, but he deserted her. 
She went to one of the German baths for her health. 
She never recovered from the blow of her husband’s 
desertion. She came home a wreck of her former self, 
and buried herself somewhere in the country. She lost 
her only child in its infancy, I have heard, and had few 
ties to bind her to life. Hers was a sad story. She 
died seven years ago — ” 

“ Died ?” 

“Yes — of consumption, I think. Her death was in 
all the papers. Did you know her well ?” 

M*r. Tempest did not reply immediately, nor did he 
show his face to his companion, who would have been 
startled at its singular pallor, and at the strange expres- 
sion of emotion that convulsed it. 

“ I met her often in society,” the explorer said at last, 
as the silence grew marked and oppressive. 

“ Here we are at my club, Mr. Tempest,” said Sir 
Harry. “ I am anxious to introduce you to my friends. 
Perhaps you may really find some of your old acquaint- 
ances among them.” 

Tempest hesitated. His soul was profoundly stirred 
by the news he had just heard. He would have given 
much to be able to creep away to some friendly soli- 
tude just then, but he conquered his longing, and with 
an exercise of his almost superhuman self-control 
calmed his features and resumed his ordinary manner. 

He accompanied Sir Harry into the club ; men of 
note and rank were introduced to him, and he found 
his name and travels alike well known to Sir Harry’s 
friends. He met no old acquaintances. 

He dined that evening with Sir Harry Fortescue, as 
he had promised. His heart was in mourning for Ber- 


200 


The Haunted Husband. 


nice, whom he believed to be dead, and also in mourn- 
ing and torn by the pangs of self-reproach because of 
that Mrs. Molyneaux whose story had been so sad, and 
who had died so young. 

“ And yet what have I to reproach myself for?” he 
asked himself, with angry defiance. “ I did rightly. 
And poor Marguerite is dead ! ‘ Died seven years ago.’ 

It is as well.” 

A large party had been arranged to succeed the din- 
ner. The ladies drove home to dress for the larger 
evening entertainment, Lady Fortescue retired to her 
private rooms, and Mr. Tempest adjourned with his 
host and a few kindred souls to the library, to spend 
the hours intervening between the two entertainments 
in congenial conversation. 

As the hour grew late the drawing-rooms began to 
fill with gayly dressed people, and the host returned 
with his friends to the scene of brightness and splendor. 
Sir Harry, as in duty bound, placed himself in close 
attendance upon Lady Fortescue, assisting her in the 
reception of her guests. 

Tempest was, as at the dinner, overwhelmed with 
attentions, which he continued to deceive modestly and 
coolly. His wit gleamed like a polished sword blade, 
cutting now and then to the bone. He was cynical, 
cool, haughty, reserved, and, strangely enough, he was 
a social success. 

Lady Fortescue made a tour of her grand rooms 
upon his arm, introducing him to various ladies with a 
pretty air of proprietorship, as if meaning to assert that 
the new lion was her own especial property. 

“ Do you know, Mr. Tempest,” said her ladyship, 
smiling, “ that I am piqued at your cynicism and hatred 
of women, and I have vowed to myself that our great 
Tartar shall bow his haughty head to the yoke of an 


The New Celebrity. 


201 - 


English woman ? No ? You did not suspect my 
designs ? Well, I have given you fair warning.” 

“ And who may this conquering Englishwoman be ?” 

“ She is Lady Diana Northwick. You see her by the 
window, surrounded by her adorers. She is an iceberg 
— a human iceberg — a coquette. But is she not beauti- 
ful ? She is engaged to marry Lord Tentamour, who 
stands at her side, holding her bouquet. What do you 
think of her ?” 

Tempest glanced in the direction indicated to him, 
and beheld at a distant window, surrounded by a 
charmed circle of gentlemen, a woman rarely beautiful 
— s.o beautiful that one having once seen her face could 
never forget it. 

She was tall, regal, and statuesque, with a noble and 
queenly carriage of her stately figure. Her pure Greek 
face was superb in its royal haughtiness. The red lips 
were curled in a smile that was strangely fascinating 
and winning. She was a blonde of the purest type, with 
a complexion like the fairest pearl. Her hair was of 
a pale golden tint, yellow, without a glint of red in its 
luxuriant masses. It was arranged in crepes, and puffs, 
and rolls, and curls, after the fashion of the day, but its 
fanciful disorder could not conceal the shape of her 
small, noble head, which was poised proudly upon her 
slender neck. She looked an empress, in her robe of 
pale blue velvet, with trimmings of point-lace, and orna- 
ments of diamonds. 

“She is very beautiful,” said Tempest, slowly. “I 
can imagine a man falling in love with her, but you say 
she is a coquette ? There is a disdain in her haughty 
glance, as she looks around her at this moment. Is that 
a revelation of her inner nature ? Is she really above 
all these coquetries ?” 

“ The question shows that she has already cast her 


202 


The Haunted Husband. 


glamour over you,” said Lady Fortescue banter ingly. 
“ That is always the way. It is fortunate that you have 
no tie to bind you to another. Think if you should fall 
in love with Lady Di while you were the husband of 
some other woman ? Such a thing would not be un- 
known here in London. Ah, I fancy you wince, Mr. 
Tempest. Can it be that there is a Mrs. Tempest in the 
background all the while ?” 

“ No ; I should say that could not be,” said the 
explorer, calmly. “ All the ties that once fettered me 
are broken. But I am no silly moth to flutter around 
the flame of Lady Di’s beauty. I candidly think that 
she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever 
seen — perhaps the most beautiful ; but hers is the 
beauty of the glorious marble statue, not the beauty of 
a tender woman. Do men call her heartless ?” 

“ Yes, and rave about her, and go mad about her 
beauty. She enjoys her power, and that it why she has 
held her lover, Lord Tentamour, so long at arm’s 
length. They will be married soon, I hear.” 

“ Who is Lady Northwick ?” asked Tempest. 

“ She is the widow of Sir Basil Northwick, a rich 
baronet, who was sufficiently accommodating to die and 
leave her all his wealth. She must be nearly thirty 
years old. Did you not tell me that you do not care for 
women ? Yet see how long we have been talking about 
the most brilliant coquette in London. Having excited 
your curiosity in regard to her, permit me to introduce 
you to her.” 

“ Thanks,” said Tempest, bowing assent. “ I dare 
say you are tired of me, Lady Fortescue, and are willing 
to be rid of me.” 

They advanced toward the reigning belle, who wel- 
comed the lion of the evening with a dazzling smile. 
Lady Fortescue presented the great explorer, and then 


Lady Diana Northwick. 


203 


moved away. At the distance of a few paces she 
paused to speak to a guest, and her glances reverted to 
Lady Diana and Tempest. The Tartar traveller was 
already deep in conversation with the polished coquette. 

“ Lady Di is sure to add Mr. Tempest to her list of 
lovers,” thought Mrs. Fortescue, with a thrill of dismay. 
“ He does not understand a woman s wiles. She would 
like to win the homage of the new celebrity. I fancy 
he is a widower. There was a strange expression in 
his eyes when I spoke of a possible Mrs. Tempest. I 
could fancy him newly bereaved when I remember that 
look. I am persuaded that something startling will 
grow out of this meeting of Lady Di and Tempest. He 
will fall in love with her and he will not go back to 
Tartary next month. But what will be the end ?” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

LADY DIANA NORTHWICK. 

Lady Diana Northwick, celebrated for her beauty 
and scintillant wit, was a most accomplished coquette 
and woman of society ; and Lady Fortescue might well 
feel apprehensive lest the great explorer, so long 
unused to ladies’ society, should fall a victim to her 
alluring beauty. 

But the distinguished explorer seemed by no means 
ready to fall upon his knees a captive to the charms of 
Lady Diana. He regarded her with a cool cynicism 
that piqued her, and yet his manner was full of a gen- 
tle courtesy that showed that he had not always been a 
stranger to a lady’s drawing-room. 


204 


The H minted Husband. 


Lady Diana was greatly impressed with his appear- 
ance. It would be something, she thought, with the 
instincts of the coquette all aroused by his cool cyni- 
cism, to bring a man like this to her feet. 

“ I would like to subdue his pride,” thought the 
beautiful coquette. “ I can do it, and I will ! By the 
by, I wonder if there's a Mrs. Tempest ? My success 
will hinge upon that.” 

She soon had an opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. 
As she was slowly promenading with Tempest, he 
made a remark about having no friends or relatives in 
England, 

“ Pardon me,” said Lady Diana, “ but you excite my 
curiosity. Have you no family ties, Mr. Tempest ?” 

“ None whatever, Lady Diana.” 

Lady Diana looked surprised, but in her heart- she 
was pleased. Her project of subduing this haughty, 
cynical celebrity was not likely to be interfered with 
by a possible Mrs. Tempest. 

Tempest’s wit was as brilliant as her own, and they 
became absorbed in conversation, which they kept up 
until the little fernery where they had paused became 
filled with groups of lovers, and they then returned to 
the drawing-room. 

They presently became separated, and did not meet 
again throughout the evening until Lady Diana came 
down from the dressing-room, shrouded in white opera 
cloak and hood, when Tempest stepped forward with 
grave courtesy and offered her his arm to conduct her 
to her carriage. Lord Tentamour sprang forward just 
an instant too late. Lady Diana laid her little gloved 
hand on Tempest’s arm, and walked beside him out at 
the open doorway, down the carpeted stone steps under 
the gay awning, and was assisted by the returned trav- 
eller into her carriage. 


205 


Lady Diana Northwick. 


She bestowed upon him a bewitching smile, and 
asked him to call upon her at her house in Park lane, 
saying that she should always be at home to him. 
Tempest accepted the invitation gravely, and bowing 
deeply, stepped back, giving place to Lord Tentamour., 
who, with a displeased air, entered the carriage, and as 
it rolled away, Tempest ascended the steps and re-en- 
tered the house, grimly smiling. 

The day after Lady Fortescue’s party Lady Diana 
Northwick stood at one of the broad plate-glass French 
windows of her own drawing-room, in her stately house 
at South Audley street, looking out idly, yet with an 
expectancy unknown to herself. 

Before the bright hearth stood her lover, to whom 
she was said to be betrothed — Lord Tentamour. He 
was evidently irritated and annoyed. One might have 
deemed that the noble pair had been quarreling, but for 
The quiet impassiveness of the lady’s cold and haughty 
face and the expression of weariness in her magnificent 
azure eyes. 

“ I begin to believe that people are right, Diana, and 
that you have no heart,” said Lord Tentamour, bitterly. 
“ You have played fast and loose with me for years ; 
you have always held me at arms’ length, and treated 
me more as an ordinary friend than as your accepted 
lover and promised husband. I am tired of all this.” 

“ If you are ‘ tired of all this,’ ” said Lady Diana, 
coldly, “ you can fling off my shackles. I will give 
you back your liberty. On the whole, perhaps that 
course might be best.” 

“ I refuse to accept it !” cried Lord Tentamour, the 
angry flush deepening on his free. “ Diana, you are 
cruel. I believe, as people say, that you were born 
without a heart. I have been your betrothed husband 
for more years than I like to count. You are not treat- 


206 


The Haunted Husband. 


ing me well. I demand that our long engagement ter- 
minate at once in marriage. I shall give you no further 
grace. You shall marry me within a month.” 

Lady Diana’s pure pale cheeks kindled into flame. 

“ Lord Tentamour forgets to whom he is speaking,” 
she said, icily. “ I suggest that your lordship seek a 
bride in Turkey. I believe, outside of Turkey, a lady 
is allowed some voice in respect to her own marriage. 
Your now rdle of Grand Turk does not become you. / 
do not intend to be married in a month’s time. If you 
so intend, you must. seek another bride than I.” 

“ You are very fond of your liberty,” said his lord- 
ship, with a slight, almost imperceptible sneer. “And 
what use do you make of it ? You are a coquette, 
whose only object in life is to play the part of a false 
beacon, and lure men to their ruin. Can you truth- 
fully affirm that you did not play the coquette last- 
night with this new lion — this Tartar explorer — Basil 
Tempest ?” 

The flame on Lady Diana’s cheeks burned yet more 
vividly. 

“ I have not appointed you my father confessor, Lord 
Tentamour,” she said, looking more intently from the 
window. “ I was civil to this stern, dark-browed 
traveller, scarcely more.” 

“ You call it bare civility to devote to him a full hour 
out of your evening — to question him in regard to his 
adventures — to appear awed and thrilled and delighted 
by turns, and to exhibit an interest in him you rarely 
exhibit toward even me ?” said Lord Tentamour, with 
jealous vehemence. “ I see that you are interested in 
him. I insist, Diana, that a stop be put to your 
coquetries. I demand again that your engagement to 
me be fulfilled immediately. I will not wait for you 
longer. Great Heaven ! Look at the years I have 


Lady Diana Northwick . 


207 


wasted in dancing attendance upon you. My suspense 
must cease to-day. You must name our bridal day." 

In his jealous passion, his lordship assumed a dicta- 
torial air that aroused Lady Diana’s defiant anger. She 
turned away from the window and approached him, her 
blue eyes blazing, her lips curled in scorn and aversion. 
She pulled from one slender forefinger a ring set with 
an immense diamond, and dropped it into Tentamour’s 
hands in haughty silence. 

“ Diana ! What does this mean ?” 

“ It means that you are free — and that I am also free ! 
It means that you have no longer right to vent your 
jealous rages upon me. I am tired of these scenes. I 
have deferred our marriage from year to year for rea- 
sons which you know as well as I. Our engagement is 
terminated at last. I advise you to woo and win some 
one more meek and submissive than I.” 

“ And you mean that it is all over between us ?” 

“ All over, my lord. We cease to be lovers, but we 
may, if you choose, be friends.” 

His lordship laughed bitterly and sneeringly, and 
turned the precious gem over and over in his hands. 
He was on the point of bursting forth into fierce 
reproaches, when a resounding knock was heard on the 
house door. A moment later, the tall, becalved foot- 
man ushered into the drawing-room the great Tartar 
explorer, Basil Tempest. 

Lord Tentamour thrust the betrothal ring in his 
pocket and determined dogg'edly to give the new-comer 
no advantage, but to outstay him and renew the broken 
engagement. He would not give up his beautiful 
betrothed, and he had sufficient confidence in himself to 
believe that he could win her back. 

Mr. Tempest came in, grave and courteous, his dark, 
stern face wearing its usual commanding expression, 


208 


The Haunted Husband. 


and his cool, keen eyes taking in the discomfort of 
Tentamour’s situation at a glance. He was conscious, 
even before a word had been spoken, that Lady Diana 
and Tentamour had quarrelled, but he gave no sign in 
his manner of his discovery. 

Lady Di greeted him with a smile that stung Tenta- 
mour as a covert insult to himself. 

“ I am delighted to see you, Mr. Tempest,” said the 
lady, with charming courtesy, giving her hand to the 
explorer. “ It is pleasant to find that among so many 
claimants upon your attention, you have not forgotten 

_ tf 

me. 

Tempest made a pleasant response, and then ex- 
changed greetings with Lord Tentamour. The two gen- 
tlemen did not shake hands, but they exchanged glances 
of dislike, and were from that moment enemies. 

Lady Diana won the explorer to speak of himself and 
his adventures, which he did with modest ease and 
grace. Lord Tentamour listened with a perceptible 
sneer. 

“ Do you know,” said Lady Diana, reflectively, “ I 
admire excessively all this daring, this disregard of 
luxuries and comforts, this devotion to science ; but I 
fear I have not in me the stuff of which explorers are 
made. After one of those long ten-hour rides which 
you describe, through a drizzling rain, I should long for 
a warm fireside, and refuse to be comforted with a bed 
on the hard ground. And, although I am not very fond 
of my kind, I still should prefer to see now and then an 
English countenance instead of those round Mongolian 
faces.” 

“ I never experienced a desire to see an English 
face,” remarked Tempest. “ In truth, I was not likely 
to meet many of them in -northern China or there- 
abouts. The British traveller, as a rule, clings to the 


Lady Diana Northwick. 


209 


well-beaten routes. I have been away from England 
for a score of years, more or less, and in all that time I 
scarcely met with one of my countrymen. I avoided 
them on my return to England, being something of a 
misanthrope, but in my very avoidance of them I fell 
in with one upon a steamer in which I sailed from 
Genoa to Marseilles, and I felt drawn to him as if he 
had been my own son. He was a noble young fellow, 
as fair as a girl naturally, but his face was bronzed by 
Eastern suns. His eyes were blue — as blue as your 
own, Lady Diana. He looked delicate, yet I do not 
doubt his slender frame was as strong as steel. He had 
the Soul of a lion in his light and supple frame. He 
was a marquis, although so young. His name was 
Lord Chetwynd. Do you know him ?” 

“ I knew his mother,” said Lady Diana. “ Lady 
Chetwynd married a swarthy Indian colonel, who was 
poor, and had two children by a wife he married and 
who died in India. They say the first Mrs. Monk was 
a half-caste, and I think the story may be true, for Miss 
Monk is swarthy and has an East Indian look. Lady 
Chetwynd became Lady Barbara Monk — ‘ all for love,’ 
as the song says. The colonel must have fascinated 
her, as snakes fascinate birds. He was not a winning 
sort of man. This young Lord Chetwynd made a 
romantic marriage, and his wife died soon afterward. 
The marriage was a mesalliance. He was engaged to 
Miss Monk ; and, by the way, they are now re-engaged 
and will soon be married. They had a lovers’ quarrel, 
and he went away in his yacht to Norway and the Heb- 
ridean group of islands, and in a fit of pique at Miss 
Monk married a plain little island girl, who had been 
adopted by the island pastor, and educated as a lady. 
There was not a gentleman’s family on the island 
except the minister’s. And Lord Chetwynd brought 


210 


Uie Haunted Husband. 


that child — she was only sixteen or seventeen — to reign 
as mistress of Chetwynd Park. It was a second edition 
of Lord and Lady Burleigh. The grandeurs of her 
new position overwhelmed the young island girl, and 
she died some two months after her advent in England. 
Lady Chetwynd, with all her shortcomings, was a won- 
derful young creature, the more to be admired when 
one reflects that the island of St. Kilda is a mere rock, 
inhabited by a rude and ignorant peasantry. 

Mr. Tempest’s face grew suddenly white. 

“ What island did you say, Lady Diana ?” he asked, 
eagerly. 

“ St. Kilda ; a bit of rock some two miles by' three, 
with mountain peaks and a village on the little bay. 
The island is not well known.” 

“ The story interests me strangely,” said Mr. Tem- 
pest, in a voice that had suddenly grown husky. “ Such 
romantic marriages are rare ; and, besides, Lord Chet- 
wynd is my friend. He has asked me down to Chet- 
wynd Park. It is odd that he should have married a 
fisher girl. What was her name ?” 

“ Bernice Gwellan. Odd, is it not ?” 

Mr. Tempest averted his face and did not answer. 
It required all his stern and powerful will to command 
his emotions at that moment. For, as the reader 
knows, it was he who had conveyed the baby Bernice 
to the island of St. Kilda fifteen years before, and con- 
fided her to the care of the Gwellans. It was for the 
sake of Bernice that he had returned, although so 
tardily, from his Eastern explorations. Bernice was 
his own and only child, and only since he had heard of 
her death had he known how he loved her. And now 
he learned that she had not died on the island— that she 
had loved and been loved — had been wooed and mar- 


Lady Diana Northzvick. 


2 I I 


ried — had been in England, and was buried but a brief 
journey from London. 

The discovery held him speechless, but Lord Tenta- 
mour filled up the silence with some remark, and Tem- 
pest’s agitation was unnoticed. 

Tempest conquered his emotion as the lion-tamer 
conquers his beasts in the cage. He commanded him- 
self with a will that seemed of iron. And although his 
face was pale, and his black eyes strangely sombre, yet 
his tone was careless as he said, in his usual voice : 

“ The story is very entertaining. Its beauty is spoiled 
by the fact of Lord Chetwynd’s expected second mar- 
riage. But perhaps that is well. He is young, and 
Miss Monk was, you say, his first love. I will take a run 
down to Chetwynd Park after a few days, and see my 
fellow-traveller. ’ ’ 

“ Shall you go back to Tartary in a month, Mr. Tem- 
pest ?” asked Lady Diana. “ If you answer in the 
affirmative, I shall think London has lost all its attrac- 
tions.” 

“ I may stay longer than I at first intended,” replied 
the explorer. “ My plans are not yet settled. I begin to 
fear,” and he directed an admiring look toward her lady- 
ship, “ that London — or South Audley street — has too 
many attractions for me, and will hold me here when I 
should be gone.” 

Lord Tentamour looked displeased. 

“ Lady Diana and I were speaking of you before you 
came in, Mr. Tempest,” said his lordship, stiffly, “ and 
in admiring your exploits came naturally to speak of 
your family. Are you of the Durham Tempests ?” 

“ I am a connection of that family,” said the explorer, 
coolly. 

Lord Tentamour, having expected a negative, was 
silenced. 


21 2 


The Haunted Husband . 


Tempest prolonged his call to the limits of propriety, 
and then arose to take leave. Other guests arriving at 
the moment, nothing remained for Lord Tentamour 
but to depart with his rival. Lady Diana invited 
the explorer to call again, and Tempest noticed that h:r 
betrothal ring, which he had observed on the previous 
night, was absent from her finger. This fact, added to 
Tentamour’s silence and suppressed anger, convinced 
him that the engagement between the noble pair had 
been broken that very day. He laid up the fact for 
future use, and bade her good-morning with an impresse- 
ment that seemed to indicate an extreme admiration for 
her. 

The rivals — for Lord Tentamour saw in Tempest an 
actual rival — emerged from the house together. At 
the foot of the steps they halted on the pavement. 
Tempest raised his hat in adieu, but Lord Tentamour 
detained him. 

“ How long are you likely to be in England, sir ?” 
inquired his lordship. 

“ It is impossible to say, my lord. I intended to 
return to China within a month. As I feel now, I may 
never go back.” 

“ You have come to this decision since you entered 
Lady Diana Northwick’s house this afternoon; is it not 
so ?” 

“ Your astuteness does you credit, my lord. It is so.” 

Lord Tentamour’s face deepened in its sullen flush of 
rage. 

“ Am I to understand that you are one of Lady Di- 
ana’s numerous victims ?” he sneered. “ Are you, like 
so many others, striving to win the rich young widow ?” 

“ The lists are open to all,” said Tempest, quietly. “ I 
conclude that no engagement of marriage exists between 
you and Lady Diana, since I saw no betrothal ring to- 


Ragee and Her Victim. 


21 


day upon her finger. And if she is not bound by any 
ties I shall seek to win her. I am frank with you. I 
admire Lady Diana. I place myself as your rival. If 
I can win her I will marry her. Let her choose between 
us, my lord. If she prefers you it will be all right, and 
I’ll go back to Tartary. If she loves me I shall regard 
myself as a fortunate man, and shall marry her before 
the summer is over. A clear field is all I ask.” 

“ You are cool,” said Tentamour, with a scowl. “ The 
lady is my promised wife. I forbid your attentions to 
her.” 

“No one can forbid them but the lady herself. If 
she asserts that they are unwelcome, or that she prefers 
to marry you, I will retire as gracefully as may be. But 
the fact stands, my lord. You and I are rivals, and I 
shall marry Lady Diana North wick if I can.” 

He bowed courteously to the enraged lord and passed 
on. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

RAGEE AND HER VICTIM. 

The bustle of a great preparation pervaded Chetwynd 
Park. The announcement of Lord Chetwynd’s betrothal 
to Sylvia Monk had been publicly made, and had 
appeared in the Eastbourne local newspapers, and in 
the London fashionable journals. The marriage was to 
take place the third week in June, and it was now the 
first week in April. 

Miss Monk had an insatiate and ungovernable love of 
luxury. She drew liberally upon Lord Chetwynd’s 
purse. She intended that her bridal outfit should rival 


214 


The Haunted Husband. 


that of the Princess Louise. Despite her indolent 
nature, she never tired of trying on new garments, 
jewels and shawls, and her mornings were all spent in 
her dressing-room among her dressmakers and her 
fineries. She tried to feel secure in her good fortune. 
Her betrothal had been made public, and what could 
happen to again break off her marriage ? 

Ah ! what ? She knew that Bernice Chetwynd lived, 
and the fear was never absent from her guilty soul lest 
Bernice should reveal herself to Chetwynd, and claim 
her old place in his heart and home. By day and by 
night a haunting dread possessed her. 

This was telling on her. How was she to endure it 
for three months? Why did not Bernice come for- 
ward ? Why did she hide herself, no one knew where, 
like a guilty person ? Sylvia tormented herself with 
these questions, but could not answer them. 

Gilbert Monk stayed on at the Park, secretly search- 
ing for Bernice, and was inexpressibly anxious and 
troubled. 

If Sylvia and Gilbert Monk were fully occupied, Lord 
Chetwynd was not less so. His occupation was of the 
most practical description. He was busy with the 
memorial school which was to perpetuate the name of 
Bernice. He interested himself in this project as he 
had interested himself in nothing since he had lost his 
young wife. He thought of her continually. His pro- 
ject seemed to bring him nearer to her. 

One evening, after dinner, Lord Chetwynd walked 
over to the bailiff’s villa, intent upon some new ampli- 
fication of his favorite idea of the school, and old Ragee 
stalked silently afar off in the shadows, and watched, 
in fear and trembling, to see if Bernice would not ap- 
pear. 

Chetwynd spent the evening in his bailiff’s office, 


Ragee and Her Victim. 


2I 5 


discussing business. It was after ten o’clock when he 
took his leave and set out upon his return home by a 
private path traversing the park. 

The moon had risen in mellow glory, and its soft 
light lay in broad streams upon the wide avenues. In 
the narrower paths the light flickered down in tremu- 
lous showers through the rifts in the trees. The stars 
were glowing softly in the blue azure of the heavens. 
Such a night as this Lord Chetwyndhad known in St. 
Kilda. Here, as there, the waves beat in the distance 
on the rocks like pulses, and Chetwynd could almost 
fancy that Bernice was with him. 

“ How this night brings her back to me !” he thought 
in his anguish of desolation. “ Oh, to see her as I saw her 
upon the first evening of my return home from my wan- 
derings ! Oh, Bernice ! Bernice ! Whether it be an 
illusion of my senses or a veritable apparition, come 
back to me once more ! Only once more let me behold 
the sweet vision of my lost young wife !” 

Was the longing intense enough to bring its own ful- 
• Ailment ? 

In the broad sheen of the moonlight, a few yards in 
advance of him, at a point where a wide avenue crossed 
the narrow path which Lord Chetwynd was treading, 
he saw a slender figure in white, her face turned to him, 
her arms outstretched t’oward him. 

He halted spell-bound. 

She seemed a vision too ethereal for humanity. He 
believed then, as he had not believed before, in spite of 
his lack of superstition and his contempt for stories of 
the supernatural, that he was looking upon a disem- 
bodied spirit ! He believed that he beheld Bernice, 
but Bernice freed from all mortal encumbrance, as she 
had come back to him from her home in heaven. He 
did not reason — he only felt. 


The Haunted Husband. 


216 


She was dressed in the white silk robe in which he 
had consigned her to the tomb. It trailed after her on 
the ground. Her neck was bare, the lace frills of her 
Pompadour corsage rising around it like foam. Her 
long dusky hair trailed over her shoulders like a cloud. 
He could even see every feature of her radiant beauty 
in the soft sheen of the moonlight. Her face had a 
mournful, yearning look that went to his soul. 

He dared not advance, lest she should fade from his 
sight. And so he stood entranced, scarcely daring to 
breathe, devouring her with his eyes. 

The rencontre, so dramatic and sensational, had not 
been planned by Bernice. She was as much surprised 
as Chetwynd, and she was also spell-bound. 

She had spent all these days since her last appearance 
to him in a lonely garret above the very attics in the 
unused tower of the great house of Chetwynd Park. 
In this secluded and hidden retreat, of which Monk 
never even thought, Bernice lived her strange, desolate, 
mournful existence. She had carried up to her retreat 
a store of blankets, which she had managed to secure 
from the rooms below. She had also brought with her 
from Mawr Castle changes of garments, enough for all 
her needs. In her dingy garret she wore her gray 
travelling robes and a long waterproof cloak, preserving 
her white silk gown unsoiled. She brought hither also 
stores of food from the pantry, larder and store-room, 
and had procured several bottles of wine from the but- 
ler’s pantry in the night. 

Her object in thus remaining on at the Park she did 
not know herself. She only felt that she could not go. 
She was bound by an oath, which she was too religious 
not to hold sacred, not to reveal the fact that she lived 
to her husband, except with Gilbert Monk’s consent. 
He had refused that consent ; and, indeed, she would 


Ragee and Her Victim. 


217 


not now have asked for it. She had no wish to return 
from the grave unwelcomed. She believed that all 
mourning for her was past, that her place was filled, 
and that she was forgotten. She would not return to 
claim a place in which another had been installed. She 
only wished that she had died. 

She had borne the closeness and dinginess of her 
garret until a longing had come over her to inhale 
again the fresh air, and to walk in the park. She was 
weak from want of exercise, and on this night had robed 
herself in her white burial robe, as a matter of precau- 
tion against detection, and had thrown about her her 
black cloak, and had stolen out into the park unseen by 
any of the inmates of the house. Arrived in the park, 
and finding the air mild, she had flung aside her cloak, 
and was carrying it on her arm. 

If Chetwynd’s sensation at beholding her was one of 
rapture, hers was one of terror. She trembled in her 
fear of discovery. 

They regarded each other for some moments in a 
strange silence. Chetwynd’s breath came heavily and 
pantingly. His eyes were wild and starting. Suddenly, 
without a word or cry, he leaped forward and ran 
toward her headlong. 

Bernice retreated before him in instinctive flight. 

He pursued. She could almost hear his frenzied 
breathing. He came on with a swift rush, as if he 
meant to seize her whether she w r ere human or spirit. 

She turned into the wide avenue and fled like a deer. 
She would not be taken. Turning into an obscure path 
near at hand, she caught up her dress and flung around 
her her black cloak. Then she halted behind a tree, 
concealing herself. 

Chetwynd went by along the path swiftly in a blind 


2 I 8 


he Haunted Husband ’ 


pursuit. He had lost sight of the glorious vision, but 
he prayed to see it again — only once again. 

Bernice listened until the sound of his tread had died 
away in the distance. She was panting and frightened, 
wild-eyed and trembling. She crept forth from her 
concealment and entered the path again. She did not 
glance behind her, else she would have seen the tall, 
shadowy figure of the old East Indian woman stalking 
silently in the dark border of the path. But Ragee saw 
her and knew her. And suddenly, as Bernice stole 
along the lonely path — Chetwynd far beyond hearing — 
the old woman launched herself forward in a swift 
panther spring, and hurled herself upon Bernice, bear- 
ing her to the earth in the violence of her onslaught. 

“ I’ve got you at last, have I ?” hissed the witch-like 
old woman, holding the girl in her iron grip. “And 
now, if you please, we’ll come to a settlement.” 

The suddenness of the old East Indian woman’s 
attack upon her for an instant paralyzed the young 
Marchioness of Chetwynd, but she did not faint nor 
shriek. The moment her brief stupefaction began to 
clear away, she turned upon her assailant, fighting like 
a little tigress. She was in a panic of mortal terror, and 
she struck out blindly, with all the energy of an utter 
desperation. 

She speedily discovered that she was but as a child in 
the iron grasp of her assailant. Ragee’s muscles were 
of steel. A desperate fury animated the Hindoo woman. 
She had the advantage, also, not having relaxed her 
first hold on Bernice, and the girl, panting and breath- 
less, wild-eyed and trembling, stood still at last, and 
looked over her shoulder at her enemy with a wild and 
horrified gaze. 

“ Who is it ?” she whispered, panting. 


Ragee and Her Victim. 


219 


“ It is I — old Ragee,” hissed the Hindoo woman in 
the girl’s ears. 

The expression in Bernice’s eyes deepened into 
amazement and terror. She made another vain effort to 
free herself. Then she whispered : 

“ What do you want of me ? What is the meaning of 
this assault ?” 

“ Perhaps you think I don’t know you,” said dhe 
Hindoo woman, tauntingly. “ It was I who dragged 
the shawl from your .shoulders that night in the great 
house. I know you,” and her tones grew fierce and 
hateful. I know you, my lady. You were supposed 
to have died ; you lay in state in your burial robes for 
six days ; you were buried in the Chetwynd vault. 
And yet here you are alive ! It is you and none other ! 
It is you, and not a ghost. . It is you in the flesh, alive, 
strong, v«ell. How happens this, that you live who have 
been mourned as dead ?” 

The fierce vindictive voice failed to kindle a spark of 
anger in Bernice’s breast. Her heart throbbed with a 
keen pain. She was bewildered, dizzy, and still trem- 
bling. She did not answer. 

“ Speak !” cried the Hindoo woman, shaking her. 
“ Do you deny that you are the Marchioness of Chet- 
wynd ?” 

Bernice’s oath prevented her declaring her identity. 
Not even to old Ragee could she confess herself the 
Marchioness of Chetwynd. 

“Speak!” reiterated the old woman. “Speak, or I 
will drag you up to the great house, andfinto my lord’s 
presence.” 

“No, no!” cried Bernice. “I will not go there! 
What do you want of me?” 

“ You acknowledge that you are Lady Chetwynd 

“ No, I cannot acknowledge that.” 


220 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ It isn’t necessary. I know you. Who rescued you 
from your coffin ? Was it Gilbert Monk ? What was 
the matter with you in your illness ? How came he to 
rescue you ?” 

“ Why do you ask me all these questions?” asked Ber- 
nice. “ I cannot answer them. Let me go. Let me 
go, I say,” 

“ By no means. I haven’t begun to speak to you yet. 
We are likely to be interrupted here,” said Ragee. 
“ Come with me. Do not hang back. I shall not hurt 
you.” 

She grasped Bernice’s arm yet more tightly, and hur- 
ried her forward with swift impatience. They plunged 
into portions of the park which Bernice had never visi- 
ted. And at last they came out upon the border of a 
lovely little lake, formerly much used in winter by the 
Chetwynds and their guests as a skating pond v 

The lake was lower than the surface of the park, and 
was inclosed by high banks, which were covered with 
stately trees. The borders of the lake were in shadow, 
but its centre lay in the full sheen of the moonlight, 
and looked like some great pellucid pearl. 

There was upon one bank of the lake a small, over- 
hanging chalet of the Swiss order of architecture, which 
had been built for the use of skaters in winter. Its 
lower story opened directly upon the lake, and was 
warmed in time of use by a little German porcelain 
stove. Its upper story, reached upon the landward side 
by a flight of stairs, was provided with a great wide bal- 
cony across its*entire front, where spectators had been 
wont to sit to view the skaters. 

The upper room of the chalet was completely fur- 
nished, and was usually kept locked. Old Ragee had 
lately supplied herself with keys to the building, with a 
view to her present use of it. 


Ragee and Her Victim. 


22 1 


She half led, half dragged her victim up the long, airy 
flight of outside stairs to the upper balcony of the chalet. 
The roof was wide and protecting, and the balcony lay 
in deep shadow. The Hindoo hurried Bernice along in 
the gloom to the door that gave upon the upper room, 
and there halted. There were rustic chairs and sofas 
in profusion upon the wide balcony. Ragee seated her 
captive upon a sofa and sat down beside her, keeping a 
close hold upon her. 

They were upon the water side of the building, and 
the entire structure concealed them from view from the 
direction whence they had come. The lake lay before 
them, and was under their very balcony, and beyond 
were the dark and wooded shores also belonging to the 
park. Ragee shot a keen glance into those distant shad- 
ows, and then, convinced that in the deep shade of the 
overhanging roof she could not be seen even from the 
lake, she turned again to her young captive. 

“ We are here alone,” she said, in a voice that thrilled 
Bernice with a strange terror. “ Alone, my lady ! Do 
you comprehend ?” 

“ Yes,” faltered Bernice. “ We are alone.” 

“ Are you afraid ?” 

“ No. Why should I be ? But it is all so strange. 
Let me go, Ragee. Oh, let me go !” 

“ There, you have confessed, in the utterance of my 
name, that you are Lady Chetwynd. Now 1 ask you 
again, and I ask it for the last time, what was the matter 
of you in your illness ?” 

She struck a taper, which she drew from a box in her 
pocket, and held the light to the girl’s face. The face 
was very pale from emotion and weariness, but there 
was a brave and dauntless light upon it that emanated 
from a brave and dauntless soul. And though Ber- 
nice, as before, refused to answer the question, the old 


222 


The Haunted Husband. 


Hindoo woman searched her features in vain for any 
knowledge of the wicked attempts upon her ladyship’s 
life. It was evident that Monk had not betrayed to her 
his sister’s guilt. 

Ragee drew a breath of relief. 

“ If you were to ask me these questions all night,” 
said Bernice, “ I still could not answer you. You are 
but wasting time on me.” 

Something of the truth began to dawn on the mind of 
the astute East Indian woman. She began to perceive 
that Bernice was fettered by some promise given to Gil- 
bert Monk. Evidently he was keeping the girl secluded 
for a purpose. Did he mean treachery to his sister ? 

“ I suppose,” Ragee said, roughly, “ that you are 
bound by some oath, my lady. What are you doing at 
Chetwynd Park playing ghost? You have changed, 
grown beautiful, too, I suppose ; . but what will your 
beauty avail you ? Perhaps you think to win back your 
former husband ? You might as well try to win back 
your lost babyhood.” 

The light of the taper flickered and went out, and the 
two were again in the shadow. The Hindoo woman 
could not see how her words affected her hearer, and 
went on harshly : 

“ Lord Chetwynd is greatly annoyed at the appear- 
ance of your supposed apparition. He threatens to 
leave the Park if he is further haunted. And it is nat- 
ural that it should be so,” continued the old Hindoo 
woman, with a fierce intonation. ‘‘When people die, 
they should stay dead. The most violent grief will 
wear away, and the mourners fill the dead one’s place 
with a new love, and the return of the dead to life 
would prove most awkward and embarrassing. I’m 
sorry for you, my lady, but for the sake of others, I 
must tell you the truth. Lord Chetwynd don’t want 


Ragee and Her Victim. 


223 


you back. He is happy with his first love, and she 
adores him. You will come back to a home where you 
have long since ceased to be missed, and where you are 
not wanted. Your return to life and home will create 
more misery than your supposed death.” 

Every word of this speech pierced to Bernice’s very 
soul, yet she did not cry nor moan. The words were 
but a repetition of those with which Gilbert Monk had 
so cruelly stabbed her. It was as he had said — her 
place was filled and she was forgotten. 

The girl arose — Ragee loosening her grip upon her 
— and walked unsteadily to the low railing of the 
balcony and leaned upon it. She was too weak to 
attempt an escape. 

The old woman watched her some moments with a 
singular gleam in her eyes, and a look of hatred so in- 
tense that it was odd the girl could not feel it. Then 
Ragee arose silently and crept across the balcony to- 
ward the girl till she arrived within some three or four 
feet of her. And then, with a bound of a wild beast, 
and an inarticulate cry on her lips, she hurled herself 
forward upon the slender girl, caught her up in her 
arms, and flung her over the balcony into the waters of 
the lake. 

Bernice’s scream and her splash in the cold waters 
were simultaneous. • 

Old Ragee leaned upon the balcony, and looked over 
in the darkness. She was not prepared for the sight 
that met her eyes. Bernice was striking out with one 
arm feebly, but with the skill of a swimmer, for a distant 
point of the shore. The girl’s instincts warned her to 
avoid the banks adjacent to the chalet, where her enemy 
would be likely to prevent her landing. 

The old woman muttered a curse in her native tongue. 

“ She can swim like a fish,” she muttered. “ I had 


224 


The Haunted Husband. 


forgotten that she was taught to row and swim and 
sail a boat at St. Kilda. She strikes out for the deeper 
water. She means to land at that jungle-like point 
yonder. What courage ! What coolness ! She’ll out- 
wit me yet. Ah ! she begins to flag. She uses but one 
arm in swimming. Why is that ? She must have struck 
the other on that pile of stones just under the surface of 
the water. Perhaps her arm is broken. She stops. She 
is hurt, or chilled, or has a cramp ?” 

She was right. Bernice had ceased to exert herself. 
She floated on the water as if helpless, and then threw 
up one arm wildly. The next moment, with a wild 
scream, she sank slowly in the dark waters, which 
closed above her. 

“ She is drowned !” muttered the Hindoo woman, 
with a jubilant laugh. “ I’ll come to look for her body 
in the morning, and every day until I find it. I will 
then tie stones to it and sink it. No one must ever 
know that she came back to life. I rather think, Mr. 
Gilbert Monk, that I have frustrated your schemes. 
The ghost of Chetwynd Park is laid, and my missy will 
be Lady Chetwynd, with no one to molest her. We’ll 
see how my lady will rise from her grave the second 
time.” 

With a horrible laugh on her shrivelled lips, the old 
Hindoo woman flitted -down the steps of the balcony 
and plunged into the shadows of the park, taking a 
homeward direction, and leaving Bernice to her fate ! 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

DEPARTURE NECESSARY. 

We will now return to Lord Chetwynd, whom we 
left flying through Chetwynd Park in pursuit of the 
supposed spectre of his lost young bride. 

When Bernice had turned aside into a yet more 
obscure path, the young marquis dashed on in the 
wider avenue, unconscious that she had changed her 
course, and soon left her far behind, as we have nar- 
rated. His progress was toward the great house ; and 
when at length he slackened his speed, with the con- 
viction that the apparition had indeed vanished, he 
was on the edge of the park, upon the very border of 
the wooded lawn. 

He halted a moment in indecision and bewilder- 
ment. 

And just then Gilbert Monk came across the lawn 
with a swift stride, and approached him. Lord Chet- 
wynd, in his excitement and agitation, shrank back into 
the shadow, not caring to be seen ; but Monk had 
caught a glimpse of the outlines of his dark figure, and 
called to him softly, and in a suppressed voice : 

“ Hallo, there ! Is it you, Flack ? I’ve tracked my 
game into the park. We must look lively — Ah !— the 
devil ! Is it you, my lord ?” 


[225] 


226 


The Haunted Husband. 


His swift stride had brought him close to the mar- 
quis. He recoiled in horror as he recognized his lord- 
ship, and grew deadly pale lest he had betrayed him- 
self. 

But the marquis had scarcely heard Monk’s singular 
address, and had certainly given no heed to it. He 
was absorbed in his own bewildering experience, and 
had no thought save for that. 

“ Have you seen anything — anybody — coming this 
way, Monk?” asked his lordship, agitatedly. 

“ Not a soul, my lord,” answered Monk, eagerly. 
“ Are you looking for some one ?” 

“Yes — no. It must have been my imagination — no, 
I swear it was not that. I cannot explain or under- 
stand it, but I saw her again but now, Gilbert, in the 
park !” 

“ Her — Bernice? Impossible, my lord. You must 
have seen one of the housemaids coming from a 
tryst — ” 

“ What ! Do I not know every feature of the face 
that has lain so often in my bosom ? — the face that is 
graven on my' very soul ? I tell you I saw her, Monk. 
She flitted on before me and vanished into the shad- 
ows.” 

“ Where did you see the fancied spectre ?” 

“In the Little Beech Walk, just out of the Beech 
Avenue.” 

“ I’ll take a turn in that direction just to satisfy you, 
Chetwynd, that the appearance was that of a house- 
maid, or else a hallucination. You should get into the 
house immediately and sit by the fire, Chetwynd. Let 
Sylvia dose you a little. I am persuaded that you are 
not well.” 

Without waiting for a response, Gilbert Monk turned 
away abruptly and hurried to the Little Beech Walk 


Departure Necessary. 


227 


and to its junction with the Beech Avenue — two well- 
known points in the extensive and well-kept park. He 
followed the Walk to its junction with the narrower and 
obscure path into which Bernice had turned. He 
paused here, with a conviction that Bernice had plunged 
into this path. So strong was his conviction that he 
struck a fusee and by its light examined narrowly the 
shadowed path into which but few beams of moonlight 
penetrated. 

His keen eyes speedily discovered traces of the strug- 
gle between the old Hindoo woman and Bernice. 

“ I see,” he muttered. “ She has been here — and so 
has some one else. There are marks of a struggle. 
Flack must have seen and captured her. That’s it. 
She is in Flack’s hands. But where has he taken her ? 
He would naturally carry her to the most secluded spot 
within a reasonable distance. He has probably taken 
her to the skaters’ chalet by the Wide Waters. He has 
keys to the chalet, which I procured for him. Yes, he 
has gone there.” 

Without an instant’s further delay he flung his burned- 
out fusee upon the ground, and struck out through the 
park by a short cut toward the skaters’ chalet. 

As he neared his destination, a wild scream — that 
uttered by Bernice as she fell into the lake from the 
balcony of the chalet, when hurled over the parapet by 
the old Hindoo woman — smote his hearing. 

He quickened his speed into a run, muttering : 

“ Curse that dolt ! Why does he let her yell like 
that ? Does he mean to let her arouse the county ? 
Chetwynd may be behind me, for aught I know. Why 
doesn’t Flack gag the girl ?” 

He almost flew along the path in his eagerness to 
reach the scene, his ears strained to catch the sound of 


2 2o 


The Haunted Husband. 


voices or a repetition of the scream. He saw nothing 
in his pathway — heard nothing. 

But suddenly — so suddenly as to deprive him of his 
breath — he came in abrupt and forcible contact with a 
person running in the opposite direction. This person 
was old Ragee. The collision was equally unexpected 
to her, and hurled her to the ground half senseless. 

Monk caught his breath and put his hand to his chest, 
against which the old Hindoo woman’s head had 
bounded as if projected from a catapult. He believed 
that the partially stunned creature at his feet was Ber- 
nice, who had escaped from Flack. 

He bent over the prostrate figure, and the old 
woman made an effort to arise. 

“ Bernice,” said Monk, in a gasping voice, “ are you 
hurt ? Good Heaven !” 

A stray beam of moonlight fell upon the dull red 
turban and dusky visage of the old Hindoo ayah, 
revealing her identity most unmistakably. He stood 
as if paralyzed, as she slowly rose to her feet, moaning 
feebly. 

“ What are you doing here, and at this hour ?” 
demanded Monk. “What are you after, Ragee?” 

The old woman unclosed her lips to make response, 
but at that instant came again the shrill, frightened 
scream of a woman in mortal peril. 

Monk waited to ask no questions. He comprehended 
that Bernice was in danger. He swept the cowering 
old Hindoo woman from his path with one powerful 
arm, and bounded on toward the borders of the lake. 

He gained the bank. He directed one keen, sweeping 
glance at the chalet, and then scanned the lake, upon 
whose surface, save at the shadowed borders under the 
trees; lay the broad sheen of the pale moonlight. 

Ah ! what was that ? 


Departure Necessary. 


229 


A dusky head in the bright shimmer of the moon- 
beams ? A human head bobbing like a cork upon the 
waters ? It rose — it fell ! And now a low, shuddering 
cry came from it. And now it began to sink slowly 
under the shimmering waters ! 

Monk did not wait to reason, or to think how Ber- 
nice came to be in the lake, and so far out. He saw 
that she was there, and pulled off his boots and coat 
and plunged into the lake, striking out and making 
toward her with the skill and swiftness of a strong and 
powerful swimmer. He was soon at her side. Her 
eyes were staring. She looked like one dead. He 
drew her to him with one arm and struck out for the 
little submerged pier under the chalet. 

He gained the pier and climbed upon it, still holding 
his burden tightly. He waded along the pier to the 
lower door of the chalet, in the shadow of the wide pro- 
jecting balcony overhead. He produced keys from his 
pocket and unlocked the door, and entered the lower 
room of the chalet. 

He staggered across the room with his burden and 
laid her down upon the sofa in the darkness. Then he 
secured the door and struck a fusee. By its light he 
obtained from a corner closet a lantern, which he lighted. 
He turned the light of this lantern full upon the face 
of the half-drowned girl. 

“ She looks like dead,” he muttered. “ If she is dead, 
my game is up ! My fortunes hang on her life !” 

In a great panic he felt her pulse, and laid his hand 
above her heart. He could just distinguish the feeble 
pulsations, and he knew that she lived. 

Setting down the lantern, he hurried again to the 
closet. Here were kept various stores for the use of the 
skaters, and various remedies in case of accident. 

Monk found them all. He poured a draught of brandy 


230 


The Haunted Husband. 


into a tumbler, and forced it between the girl’s white 
lips. He chafed her hands, even while he shivered with 
cold and excitement. 

And presently her staring eyes relaxed their stony, 
unmeaning gaze, and her form quivered, and a great 
throb at her heart sent the blood bounding through all 
her veins and arteries, quickening the pulses at her 
wrist and reddening the death-pale cheeks and lips. 

Monk redoubled his exertions, chafing her delicate 
hands and pouring yet more brandy down her throat. 
She choked a little, coughed, and uttered a low moan. 

“ Benice !” cried Monk, softly — “ Bernice, speak to 
me.” 

The young marchioness turned her eyes upon him in 
a glance of recognition, and feebly uttered his name. 

“ Yes, it is I — Gilbert,” he said. “ Why do you look * 
around you in sudden fear ? No one can harm you, 
Bernice. I found you drowning. I saved your life 
to-night for the second time. There, don’t speak, Ber- 
nice. I’ll have a fire directly, and get the better of the 
chill that is on us both.” 

He hastened to carry his words into practice. 

In addition to the German porcelain stove, there was 
a grate in the lower room of the chalet. Gilbert Monk 
found a few bundles of fagots in the closet, and soon 
had a fire blazing on the hearth. The resinous odor of 
pine filled the room with fragrance. The subtle heat 
penetrated to every corner. 

“Now, Bernice,” said Monk, approaching her, “let 
me lead you a few turns about the room. You are 
weak, I know, but those wet garments will give you 
your death. Come !” 

He lifted her gently from the sofa, and supporting 
her carefully, led her to and fro the room. She leaned 
on him heavily. Her white silk robe, saturated with 


Departure Necessary . 


231 


water, clung to her figure, and lay upon the floor in dis- 
colored folds. Her wet hair hung over her shoulders, 
dripping at every movement. Her bare arms gleamed 
like wet marble. 

After a few turns about the room, Bernice sat down 
again upon the sofa, white with pain. 

“ I hurt my arm in falling from the balcony,” she 
said. “ It pains me. Is it broken ?” 

It was her left arm. Monk examined it with solici- 
tude. No bone was broken, but the wrist was sprained, 
and the arm was badly bruised. 

“ I can do nothing for it,” he said. “ You must not 
use the arm, Bernice. It is a simple sprain, but 
requires a soothing liniment. It will be all right in a 
week, if it is well cared for, and it shall be my business 
to see that it is properly tended. Do you know where 
3^ou are, Bernice ?” 

“Yes; in the chalet,” answered Bernice, looking 
around her wflth the first token of interest in her sur- 
roundings which she had yet displayed. And then she 
told him of her encounter with Ragee, and the old 
ayah’s attempt to kill her by tossing her into the lake. 

Monk started. He had forgotten until this moment, 
in the greater excitement of the rescue and resuscita- 
tion of Bernice, of his meeting and collision with the 
old East Indian woman. Bernice noticed how his face 
whitened. 

Monk took a solitary turn or two about the room. 
The conviction that old Ragee had pitted herself 
against him was by no means pleasant. A portion of 
his secret was laid bare to the ayah and his sister, and 
he began to fear that they would contrive to cheat him 
out of the prize for which he was striving. He knew 
the old Hindoo woman to be more subtle than a serpent, 


The Haunted Husband. 


and he hardly dared hope that he might outwit her. 
He was afraid of her. 

“Bernice,” he said, abruptly,' “who is your best 
friend ?” 

“ You are,” the young marchioness answered, simply, 
with a childlike trust in him that ought to have appealed 
to his better nature. 

“ Yes, I am your best friend, Bernice. I rescued you 
from your very grave. I found a safe and pleasant 
home for you. I have proved my true friendship for 
you. Will you trust me to the uttermost, Bernice ? 
Will you heed my wishes, and let me take you back to 
Mawr Castle ?” 

The girl’s face grew paler, but she replied bravely : 

“ I owe you everything, as you say, Gilbert. And if 
you wish, I will go back to Wales — and — and leave Roy 
and the dear home I have loved — and — and all — ” 

“ And the murderous old Hindoo ayah, who will not 
rest until she destroys your life !” interposed Gilbert 
Monk ; “ that is, if you remain here. I must get you 
out of her reach. The old creature is devoted to Sylvia, 
and she knows that Sylvia is betrothed to Chetwynd, 
and she fears that you mean to prevent their marriage. 
Their marriage would be legal, of course — you being 
dead in law after you have been buried as dead — but 
your re-appearance would cause a scandal. Besides, 
Sylvia has too much generosity to marry Roy if she 
knew you to be living. And so this misguided old 
creature, having discovered that you live, and desiring 
to secure Chetwynd’s and Sylvia’s happiness, made up 
her mind to remove you. She won’t rest until she has 
accomplished her intention, unless I hide you from 
her.” 

“ Then take me back to Wales. Take me away, Gil- 
bert, this very night.” 


Departure Necessary. 


2 


n 'l 
00 


“ Mrs. Crowl is over at Eastbourne in lodgings, and 
1 Flack is somewhere about the grounds. I will send 
him to Chetwynd-by-sea for a fly, and you shall be 
driven over to Eastbourne to Mrs. Crowl’s lodgings. 
You can remain in her rooms until to-morrow evening, 
and then proceed to London, vailed or disguised, by the 
express. Mrs. Crowl and Flack will take you back to 
the castle.” 

“ My clothes are wet,” said Bernice. “ I am very 
uncomfortable and I should not like to appear at East- 
bourne as I am now. My cloak was carried off by old 
Ragee. I have a travelling bag filled with a change of 
garments in the little garret over the tower attic, and 
my travelling dress and hat are there also. Can you 
get them to me ?” > 

“ I will go for them, and change my own garments at 
once, while Flack goes for a carriage. You will 
remain here, Bernice ? You will not give me the slip as 
once before, I trust.” 

“ No, I will be here when you return. Oh, Gilbert, 
do you think old Ragee will come back to see if I am 
drowned ?” 

“ She may be lurking about the place now. Keep 
the doors locked in my absence. I will give you my 
revolver to defend yourself in case of need. The old 
woman cannot penetrate into the chalet, Bernice. Keep 
up the fire, and your courage as well. I will be back 
in half an hour.” 

A few more words were spoken, and Gilbert Monk 
then left the chalet. He waited outside until Bernice 
had locked the door, and he then went around the 
house, examining all the fastenings with singular ner- 
vousness. 

“ It's all right,” he said to himself. “She is safe in 
there, Ragee has no keys to the chalet, of. course. Ber- 


234 


The Haunted Husband. 


nice is brave, too, and can defend herself if need arises. 
And yet I’m uneasy. I would rather the ayah had not 
made the discovery that Bernice lives. She won’t rest 
until she destroys her, unless I hide the girl beyond her 
reach. I have got a serpent to deal with, and must be 
as subtle as she.” 

Bernice had been alone but a few moments in the 
little Swiss chalet when she heard a peculiar scratching 
at the door by which Monk had departed. She was 
lying down at the moment upon the sofa in front of the 
delicious fire, the heat penetrating through her wet gar- 
ments to her very vitals, but when that low sound 
reached her hearing she half raised herself, cresting her 
small, noble head, and waited in a pale expectancy for 
further demonstrations. 

She knew that the sound had been produced by old 
Ragee. She knew that the murderous old Hindoo 
woman had observed Monk’s departure, and was now 
prowling around the chalet, like an infuriated tigress, 
seeking some place of entrance. 

“ I can defend myself against her,” thought the 
young marchioness. “ Gilbert will soon be back, and 
until then I can stand a siege.” 

She grew paler in the very moment of making this 
assurance’ to herself, as she recognized the clinking 
sound produced by the contact of metal with metal. 

It flashed upon her like a revelation that the old Hin- 
doo woman possessed keys to the chalet. In that case 
it would seem that she was at Ragee’s mercy. 

She knew instinctively, after hearing the sound of 
clashing metal, that Ragee was endeavoring to fit a key 
into the lock and to push out the key already in. 

With new-born strength, she sprang up from her sofa 
and flew to the door. She had hardly gained it when 
the key on the inner side dropped from the lock. As 


Departure Necessary. 


235 


quick as a flash Bernice thrust the key back into its 
socket and turned it, holding it with all her strength. 

A low growling sound without attested that Ragee 
knew her presence and designs discovered. 

Bernice cast a quick glance toward the hearth. Bun- 
dles of fagots and sticks were strewn there, and she 
singled out one which she thought might be used to 
strengthen her defence, and thrust it through the loop 
handle of the key, resting the point of the stick on the 
floor. Then she inclined her ear, listening eagerly. 
She heard a low, suppressed breathing outside, and 
knew that old Ragee was crouching there and waiting. 

A few minutes passed, and then the cunning old East 
Indian woman softly attempted to turn the girl’s key in 
the lock. In vain. Bernice’s ready wit had proved 
more than equal to the emergency. The key could not 
be turned, and consequently could not be pushed out of 
the lock. 

There was a smothered sound as of imprecations in 
the Hindoo tongue, and then Bernice heard the old 
woman creep stealthily away. 

“ She is climbing the outside stair,” thought the girl, 
following in her mind every step taken by her enemy. 
“ See creeps along the balcony. She unlocks the door 
of the upper room. Ah ! now I hear her step above me. 
She means to descend the inner stairs, unlock the door 
at the foot yonder, and burst in upon me.” 

The girl flew across the room to the far corner, in 
which the light inner spiral staircase was enclosed, in 
a space sorresponding to the three corner closets. The 
door was closed, but the key was not in the lock. 

The girl, it seems, was thus at the old Hindoo wom- 
an’s mercy. 

But Bernice did not lose her high courage. She 


The Haunted Husband. 


236 


wheeled the sofa against the door, and piled on top of 
the sofa the easy-chairs. 

There was an extra chair when the impromptu barri- 
cade had been made, and Bernice sat down upon this, 
just out of range of the stair-door, and prepared to 
defend the only point in the room about whose strength 
to resist assault she retained misgivings. 

The old woman’s movements were exceedingly 
stealthy. She crept down the stair and tried the door 
at its foot. It was locked. Presently Bernice heard a 
key fit gratingly into the key -hole, and the bolt was 
shot back into the lock. 

A low, snarling laugh, like the subdued growl of a 
wild beast, came from the ayah. A moment of sus- 
pense, and then the door was pushed open an inch or 
two against the barricade, which Bernice saw that a 
vigorous assault by the old woman would sweep aside 
like so many toys. 

“ Stop where you are !” cried the young marchioness, 
leveling her pistol, and speaking in a tone so cool and 
commanding as to win a ready obedience from the 
crouching figure on the stair. “ I am not defenceless, 
Ragee. Mr. Monk left his revolver with me, and I 
know how to use it. Stop where you are !” and her 
young voice ran sternly through the little chalet. 

A silence of some minutes followed this speech, but 
after a little the door pressed with renewed force 
against the barricade, which yielded slightly. 

Bernice stood up, white and resolute, and setting her 
teeth together, fired. 

The ball whizzed passed the aperture of the partially 
open door, and buried itself in the wall. The old ayah 
had been in the act of trying to peer into the room, 
and the ball had passed within three inches of her 
head. She gave a stifled howl of baffled rage, and 


Departure Necessary. 


2 37 


hurled herself against the door with vehement fury. 
The barricade yielded now sufficiently to form an aper- 
ture large enough for the admission of the old woman’s 
head. She thrust out that extremity of her supple 
body with a peculiar darting movement. 

As she did so, a bullet whistled past her so danger- 
ously near that she drew back with another howl — this 
time a howl of terror. 

“Are you yet convinced that I am in earnest?” 
asked the young marchioness. “ I have five shots 
left.” 

The old Hindoo began to realize that she had not a 
child to deal with, nor a timid girl, but a woman 
aroused to battle for her life, who would defend her- 
self at any and all cost, and be weakened by no 
terrors. 

Ragee sat down on the slender, spiral stair in dismay. 
She did not wish to go away and leave Bernice con- 
queror of the field. And she finally concluded to make 
a bold onslaught into the room and rush upon the girl, 
taking her chances of getting wounded. 

Gathering all her forces, she projected herself against 
the door, and it yielded several inches. There was now 
space enough to admit her slender figure, and she 
cautiously prepared to avail herself of it. 

Crouching, she covered her person with the barricade, 
and crept stealthily into the room on her hands and 
knees. To her astonishment, Bernice did not fire upon 
her. She gathered herself up like a ball, and raised her 
turbaned head slowly above the back of the sofa. She 
thought that Bernice had fainted in excess of terror, 
and believed herself on the point of victory. With a 
sudden yell of intimidation she leaped up, and bounded 
into the centre of the room. 


238 


The Haunted Husband. 


To her infinite amazement, young- Lady Chetwynd 
was not in the apartment. The door stood wide open, 
and outside, in plain view, Bernice was standing, sup- 
ported by the arm of Gilbert Monk. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE PLOTTERS ALL BUSY. 

“ It’s all up for to-night,” Ragee muttered, in her 
Hindoo tongue. “ I must bide my time, and watch my 
chance. It will come soon, if I am ready. The pale- 
faced young girl with Iher baby face shall not crowd 
out my young mistress from her rightful position as 
Lady of Chetwynd. I will destroy her as I would an 
insect.” 

She shook her hand in fierce menacing at the object 
of her hatred, and then, growing mindful of her own 
safety, and not wishing to risk an encounter with Gil- 
bert Monk, she darted down the outside staircase, and 
was away in the shadow of the trees almost with the 
rapidity of thought. 

She concealed herself in a secure position at a little 
distance, at a point commanding a view of the door of 
the chalet. 

Her escape was immediately discovered, and Monk 
said : 

“You are safe now with me, Bernice. Ragee has 
hurried home, I am positive. She would not dare risk 
a meeting with me. You are pale and worn out. Let 
me take you from this place as soon as possible. Flack 
has been staying in the neighborhood since he brought 


The Plotters all Busy. 


2 39 


me the news of your departure from Mawr Castle, and 
I found him in the edge of the park as I went back to 
the house. I sent him to Chetwynd-by-sea for a car- 
riage, and he will drive you over to Eastbourne directly. 
He is to be in waiting at the lower gate of the park, 
nearest the village. Here are your clothes. It would 
be well to lay aside those wet garments as soon as pos- 
sible.” • 

Bernice assented, and Monk went outside the chalet 
and closed the door. Young Lady Chetwynd secured 
it on the inner side, again barricaded the door at the 
foot of the stair, and changed her wet garments for dry 
ones as rapidly as the swollen and painful state of her 
sprained wrist would allow. 

She was soon warmly clothed. She rolled up her 
damp garments and packed them into her travelling-' 
bag. Her white silk robe, which had so ably served in 
her appearance as a spectre, was quite dry. She exam- 
ined it carefullly. It had been gathered up about her 
waist when she had fallen into the lake, and was not 
torn nor damaged. 

She rolled up the robe and thrust it into her travel- 
ling-bag. She was attired in her bronze-gray cashmere 
robe and jacket, and it only now remained to put on 
her hat. While she was thus completing her attire, 
Monk came in, put out the remaining fire, scattering 
the embers on the hearth, and extinguished the light of 
the lantern, which he restored to the closet from which 
he had withdrawn it. Then he arranged the furniture, 
which Bernice had piled up in the form of a barricade, 
in its usual order, and conducted young Lady Chetwynd 
out of the chalet. 

They halted outside while he locked the door, and 
Bernice then placed her arm in his, and they moved on 
among the shadows, keeping a vigilant and apprehensive 


240 


The Haunted Husband. 


lookout around them. They wound along the narrow 
and dusky paths, avoiding the wider moonlit avenues, 
and once or twice they halted at some rustic seat, that 
Bernice might rest. But at last they approached the 
lower end of the park, and the small gate leading out 
upon the open highway. 

“ I always carry a key to this gate,” said Monk, pro- 
ducing the key in question from his pocket. “ J gener- 
ally cross the park when I go to the village. Here we 
are, and the fly is waiting.” 

Flack was on the box, whip in hand. He raised his 
hat to the young lady and to his master. 

Monk assisted Bernice into the vehicle. He hesi- 
tated about accompanying her to Eastbourne. He 
feared lest he should be missed from the Park, and he 
’had another task to do on this night — a task which he 
dreaded, but deemed necessary to the success of his 
plans and even to his own well-being. But he dared 
not run any risk of losing Bernice again. To place her 
safely in the hands of Mrs. Crowl was the first and 
most important movement to be made. Upon his safe 
custody of Bernice all his plans hinged. He decided, 
therefore, to accompany her to Eastbourne. 

“ To Mrs. Crowl’s lodgings, Flack,” he ordered in a 
low voice, with a piercing glance around him. “ And 
be lively. We’ve a long drive before us, and I have 
other business on hand to-night.” 

He sprang lightly into the vehicle arid closed the 
door. The fly rolled heavily along the road on its way 
to Eastbourne, by Chetwynd-by-sea. 

It was not yet out of sight, when the withered, dusky, 
witch like face of the old Hindoo woman was pressed 
against the spears of the gate, and the bead-like eyes 
glittered as Ragee muttered : 

“‘To Mrs. Crowl’s ?’ A long drive? He must be 


The Plotters all Busy. 


241 


going to Eastbourne. ‘ To Mrs. Crowl’s lodgings ' at 
Eastbourne, eh ? I'm going to Eastbourne to-morrow. 
And he has other business on hand to-night ! What 
business ? I find that he is deeper than I thought. 
He’ll bear watching. I’ll know what his ‘ other busi- 
ness ’ is. Missy won’t be troubled if I am absent all 
night. She trusts me. And so I’ll wait to watch him. 
Hell be back at this gate by two o'clock, and I’ll be 
here, too.” 

Meanwhile the antiquated fly and its occupants were 
proceeding swiftly along the road to Chetwynd-by-sea. 
They entered Eastbourne after a brisk drive, and Flack 
drove into the retired street in which Mrs. Crowl had 
taken lodgings. The fly presently halted before the 
door of a three-storied brick house, one of a row of sim- 
ilar houses. 

“ This is the place,” said Monk, opening the door of 
the carriage and springing out. 

He assisted Bernice to alight. He helped her up the 
steps and into the house. Mrs. Crowl received the young 
marchioness kindly and respectfully, and with a warmth 
that was very grateful to the girl. The relations be- 
tween the two had been from the first as mistress and 
servant, and Mrs. Crowl had played her part so well as 
never to excite the girl’s suspicions.” 

Mrs. Crowl led the way up stairs, Bernice and Monk 
following. The woman ushered them into a pleasant 
little parlor, where lights and a fire were burning, and 
drew up an easv-chair before the hearth. Bernice sank 
into the chair, tired and very pale. 

“ Miss Gwyn has sprained her wrist,” said Monk. 
“ You will know how to treat the ailment, Mrs. Crowl, 
without calling in a physician. To-morrow evening, 
Miss Gwyn will be able to start for Mawr Castle, and 
you will take the express for London. You will stop 


242 


The Haunted Husband. 


at a quiet hotel in town to-morrow night, and continue 
your journey the next day. I will be in London also 
to-morrow evening — going up on the same train with 
you, in fact, to make all sure. We will meet at the sta- 
tion. And now good-night.” 

He bent over Bernice and kissed her. Then he took 
his leave, and hurried down to the waiting carriage and 
set out on his return. 

When the fly arrived upon the hill overlooking the 
village of Chetwynd-by-sea, Monk called to the driver 
to stop. The order was promptly obeyed. Monk 
alighted, and exclaimed : 

“ You can drive on, Flack, and return the fly to the 
inn. I’ll walk home, and stretch my legs after this long 
drive. You need not come to the Park to-morrow. Pay 
your bill at the inn in the morning, and go to East- 
bourne. You are to take charge of Miss Gwyn and Mrs. 
Crowl, and have them at the station to-morrow night. 
I shall go up to London by the same train.” 

He dismissed his confederate by a wave of the hand, 
and the vehicle passed on in the distance. 

Monk walked briskly down the hill and into the silent 
village. He turned into the lonely churchyard among 
the graves, whose tall white headstones screened him 
from the possible view of any watcher, although the 
moonlight was still brilliant. 

He crept into the little shaded stone porch, and let 
himself into the church. It was then about two o’clock 
in the morning. 

It was past four, and the gray dawn was breaking, 
when he emerged from the church, wearied and worn 
and pale. 

Monk went on through the village and ascended the 
hill beyond. At the lower gate of the Park he halted 


The Plotters all Busy . 


243 


and let himself in, and hurried along the more obscure 
paths toward the house. 

The old Hindoo woman had watched and waited for 
him all these hours. She saw him enter the park, and 
one glance at him assured her that his “ other business ” 
had been accomplished. She arose from her crouching 
position and followed him stealthily homeward. 

“ I’ve made a failure of it, after all,” the old woman 
muttered. “ His business lay in the village. It con- 
cerned my lady in some way. But what was it ? I’d 
like to know Gilbert Monk’s schemes, but they all hinge 
on that girl. He means to preserve her life ; I mean 
to destroy it. Which will win ?” 

The kitchen-maids were astir, and old Ragee, watch- 
ing her opportunity, experienced no difficulty in slipping 
into the house unseen, at the servants’ entrance. She 
glided up to the apartments of her mistress, whom she 
found sleeping. She passed on to her own room and 
changed her garments, and flung herself on her bed, 
dropping asleep. 

It was somewhere about eight o’clock when Miss 
Monk’s bell summoned her. She was a light sleeper, 
awakening at a sound or touch, and now started up 
broad awake upon the instant. She folded her turban 
afresh, and hastened to the bed-chamber of her mis- 
tress. 

Miss Monk was in bed, her head lying back upon her 
pillows, a fretful expression on her swarthy face. She 
was annoyed and curious, and she exclaimed petu- 
lantly : 

“ Why did you not sleep in my room last night as 
usual, Ragee ? Why were you not here to undress 
me ? I kept awake till near morning from sheer terror. 
I cannot be alone, and you know it.” 

Ragee at once told her mistress the story of her 


244 


The Haunted Husband \ 


adventures during the night. Miss Monk listened in 
breathless eagerness. 

“ Gilbert is the head and front of this apparition busi- 
ness,” said Sylvia at length. “ And yet why should he 
wish to ruin me ? He rescued her from her tomb. It’s 
all plain to me now. And he has some object in de- 
fending her. But what can it be ? He did not love 
her.” 

“ I can see into the mystery,” said the old Hindoo 
woman, her dusky face lighting. “ The truth is he has 
discovered who she is. You know, Missy, she did not 
know her parentage. Gilbert has found out the secret. 
She is of noble blood, one can tell that by her haughty 
air, her patrician beauty, her high breeding. She looks 
like a princess at the least. I can see Gilbert’s game 
now. He means to allow you to marry my lord, and he 
will then restore my lady to her own friends and rela- 
tives, and feather his own nest.” 

“ But what would then become of me ? I should be 
no wife. I should be set adrift—” 

“ Yes, Missy. But perhaps Mr. Gilbert would not 
permit things to go so far. Perhaps he will not allow 
you to marry my lord. Gilbert is a selfish fellow and 
means to look out for himself, and he won’t care what 
becomes of you. I think he brought my lady here to 
play ghost. I think he means to exact a good price 
from my lord and from Lady Chetwynd’s relatives, and 
then restore her to them as one from the dead.” 

Miss Monk looked terrified. 

“ What shall we do !” she whispered. “ What shall 
we do, Ragee ?” 

“ Leave it all to me. We must not suffer Gilbert to 
suspect how much we know of his plans. I will outwit 
him, and destroy the girl. Leave it to me, I say. My 
lady is at ‘Mrs. Crowl’s lodgings,’ at Eastbourne. You 


The Plotters alt Busy. 


245 


must send me to Eastbourne to-day, Missy, to match 
some of your embroideries or trimmings, or something.” 

“ But he will not keep her at Eastbourne, where she 
is known. He will take her to London, and conceal 
her there, until he is ready to disclose the fact that she 
lives.” 

“Then I’ll go to London, too,” said the Hindoo, with 
a resolute gleam in her eyes. “ I’ll be more than a 
match for him.” 

Miss Monk 'put aside her chocolate, taking a draught 
of stronger drink to “ steady her nerves.” Then she 
allowed herself to be dressed in her luxurious Eastern 
style, and at nine o’clock was ready for breakfast. She 
bade Ragee await her return to her chamber, and 
descended to the breakfast-room. 

Lord Chetwynd was already there, and Gilbert Monk 
followed her immediately, looking somewhat haggard 
and wearied. Miss Monk was very amusing, with a 
forced gayety, but Chetwynd was unusually silent and 
abstracted. 

“ Anything I can do for you in town, Sylvia ?” 
inquired Monk, carelessly, as he received his second 
cup of coffee at the hands of the waiter. “ Have you 
any commands for jeweler, dressmaker, bootmaker or 
milliner ? I shall be pleased to execute any wish you 
may entertain. I am going up to London to-night.” 

“ Ah, indeed ?” said Miss Monk, “ If you will look in 
at Howell and James’s, and inquire when my opal brace- 
let will be finished, I shall be obliged. Shall you be 
gone long ?” 

“ A day or so — possibly a week. Scotsby and Newman 
expect me, and business is business, you know.” 

In the early evening, immediately after dinner, Gil- 
bert Monk drove over to Eastbourne, and to the station. 
He arrived at the last moment, and was ushered into a 


246 


The Haunted Husband. 


first-class compartment occupied by two vailed ladies, 
of whom one was Lady Chetwynd and the other Mrs. 
Crowl. 

The train had begun to move, when the door of the 
second-class compartment adjoining was hurriedly 
opened by the guard, and a bent old woman, with a 
painted white face, gray hair, a frilled cap, and a huge 
scuttle bonnet, was pushed in, and the door hastily shut 
upon her. This old woman was Ragee, the Hindoo ! 
And thus, environed by her enemies, young Lady Chet- 
wynd journeyed up to London 


CHAPTER XX. 

IN A STATE OF UNCERTAINTY. 

On arriving at the London Bridge terminus, Gilbert 
Monk alighted from the first-class coach he had occupied 
with young Lady Chetwynd and Mrs. Crowl on the 
journey up from Eastbourne, and raising his hat to 
them as to utter strangers, he crossed the platform and 
entered a Hansom cab, bidding the driver convey him 
to Haskell’s Family Hotel, Piccadilly. 

Flack appeared from a second-class coach near at 
hand, and escorted Lady Chetwynd and Mrs. Crowl to 
a four-wheeled cab, assisted them into the vehicle, 
mounted the box with the driver, and gave the same 
order Monk had given — Haskell’s Family Hotel, Picca- 
dilly. 

An old bent woman — the Hindoo ayah cleverly dis- 
guised— had appeared from the second-class carriage 
adjoining the compartment occupied by Lady Chet- 


Iii a State of Uncertainty. 


247 


wynd, had heard the orders of Monk and Flack, and 
now entered a cab and gave precisely the same order 
they had given — Haskell’s Family Hotel, Piccadilly. 

In the course of an hour thereafter the three several 
parties were comfortably quartered in the quiet family 
hotel they had designated. The hour was late, and Gil- 
bert Monk did not see Bernice again that evening. The 
Hindoo woman registered a false name, and ascertained 
that Lady Chetwynd was registered as Miss Gwyn of 
Carnarvon. 

This discovery afforded the ayah food for thought 
and speculation throughout the remainder of that night. 

The next morning, after eating a solitary breakfast 
in the coffee-room of the hotel, Gilbert Monk ordered a 
cab, and went up to Lady Chetwynd’s private parlor. 
He found her lying upon a couch near the window, 
with her hair unconfined, her face pale, and wearing an 
expression of physical suffering. Her white brows 
were contracted in pain, and she was manifestly unable 
to travel. 

Monk gave a start of dismay, 

“ What is to be done ?” he asked, in a tone of perplexity. 
“ Shall I send for a physician ?” 

“ She needs a day of rest, with warmth and stimulat- 
ing food,” said Mrs. Crowl. “ I can treat her as well as 
a physician could, Mr. Monk. I’ll have her ready to 
start for Wales in a day or two.” 

Monk reluctantly went out and dismissed his cab, and 
announced at the office of the hotel that he should pro- 
long his stay a day or two further. He then returned 
to Lady Chetwynd’s parlor, with a parcel of morning 
papers, resolved upon making the best of a bad situation. 

He found Mrs. Crowl concocting an eggnog for the 
benefit of her patient. Bernice drank the preparation 
meekly, and presently dropped to sleep. 


248 


The Haunted Husband. 


Mrs. Crowl pushed an arm-chair to the hearth, in con- 
venient proximity to the chair occupied by Monk, and 
seated herself, her glances fixed upon the beautiful 
sleeper. 

“ How lovely she is !” the woman whispered. “ She 
is superbly, radiantly beautiful. And she is so frank, so 
honest, so gentle, so unsuspicious of harm ! She is a real 
lady through and through. I should like to live with 
her always, Mr. Monk. I wonder how you can have 
seen her grow beautiful under your very eyes, and be- 
come accomplished and fit to adorn the queen’s drawing- 
room, and yet not fall in love with her !” 

Monk’s paper fell to his knees, and his swarthy face 
flushed with the consciousness of a new and suddenly 
conceived passion for Bernice. 

Mrs. Crowl read his flush and agitation aright. She 
looked amazed, then pleased. 

“ Why, I never have suspected that you love Miss 
Gwyn,” she exclaimed. “ It’s something new even to 
you, I know, Mr. Monk. I am delighted, sir, and I 
hope that if you win her you will allow me to remain 
with her always. I should ask nothing better than to 
live with Miss Gwyn all my life.” 

“ I do not know what Miss Gwyn will say to a mar- 
riage with me,” said Monk, thoughtfully. “ She likes 
me and trusts me, that I know. She trusts you also, 
and you might drop a word now and then about my 
devotion to her, and prepare her to receive favorably, 
in good time, a proposal of marriage from me. If she 
marries me, Mrs. Crowl, you shall be her lady house- 
keeper, at a handsome salary, as long as you live.” 

Mrs. Crowl’s eyes sparkled with delight. 

“ I advise you to let her know that you love her, sir,” 
she whispered. “ Give her something else to think of 
besides old troubles. Take my word for it, she’ll feel 


In a State of Uncertainty. 


249 


flattered and pleased, and she’ll soon get used to the 
idea and like it. She loves you now as a sister ; it’s 
only a step further to love you as your bride.” 

Monk’s perceptions and intuitions not being of the 
finest, he was glad to accept his confederate’s estimate 
of Bernice, and to act upon it. He resolved that he 
would do nothing to lessen Bernice’s trust in him, but 
that he would delicately intimate to her, at the first 
suitable opportunity, that although Lord Chetwynd had 
forgotten her, there was one still who adored her, and 
who would devote his life to her if she would permit 
him. 

The opportunity he desired did not occur before 
evening, when, after eating his dinner in the coffee- 
room, Monk returned to Lady Chetwynd’s parlor. The 
gas was lighted here, and the curtains were drawn. 
The fire burned cheerily on the hearth, and before it 
sat Bernice, still pale, but with a brighter look on her 
proud dark face. She looked stronger, too, than in the 
morning, and greeted Monk with a smile. 

He was delighted at the change in her, and sat down 
near her, his face beaming. 

“ I feared that you had retired,” he said, “ but you 
are almost well again, Bernice. Mrs. Crowl is a physi- 
cian as well as a nurse. I am persuaded that you will 
be able to continue your journey in the morning.” 

Mrs. Crowl appeared from the inner room, attired for 
the street. 

“ I suppose we are to go on to the castle to-morrow, 
Mr. Monk,” she said, “ and I have a few purchases to 
make in town, so I must make them to-night. Miss 
Gwyn was not so weak as I feared. Her wrist is better, 
all the inflammation having gone from it, and she is 
quite able to travel. I shall be back in an hour, having 


2 5 0 


7 he Haunted Husband. 


only to go into Oxford street, if Miss Gwyn will kindly 
allow me. 

Bernice gave assent, and Mrs. Crowl departed. 

And now was come the opportunity Monk had craved, 
in which to tell Bernice his love for her. But how 
was he to do it ? 

While he hesitated in what manner to begin his 
intended communication, Bernice broke the silence. 

“ Gilbert,” she said, hesitatingly, “ I’ve been thinking 
to-day, during' my few waking hours, of how strangely 
I am situated. You tell me that, having apparently 
died, and having actually been buried, I have ceased to 
be Lord Chetwynd’s wife. You have been very kind to 
me, Gilbert. You have saved my life twice ; you have 
given me rare opportunities for improvement, and have 
been a noble brother to me. Roy will marry Sylvia 
soon, and I am left utterly alone, with no future to look 
forward to. I can never hope to reward you for your 
goodness to me. I am a helpless burden upon you, and 
I know that you are poor. I cannot consent to be a 
burden to you any longer.” 

“ What do you propose doing?” 

“ I have no further interest in England. I want to go 
somewhere where I have at least a shadow of a claim 
upon some one. It is April, Gilbert, and ships can visit 
St. Kilda. I want you, as a last favor to me, to procure 
me passage to my old island home.” 

Monk’s face grew sober, even to sadness. 

“ You have no home at St. Kilda now, Bernice,” he 
said. “ I don’t know how to tell you, but it is better to 
say the truth at once. Mr. and Mrs. Gwellan were both 
drowned at sea last month, on a voyage from St. Kilda 
to Glasgow. It was in all the papers — a sad affair — ” 

He paused, affrighted at the dead whiteness of the 


In a State of Uncertainty. 


2 5 


girl’s face, and at the wild look in her great brown 
eyes. 

“ Dead !” she said. “ Drowned ?” 

“Yes, Bernice. It was a terrible accident. The boat 
— a fishing craft — went down in a gale, with all on 
board.” 

“ Dead ! — drowned !” repeated the low, piteous voice, 
with its wild strain of incredulity. “ Dead ! Oh, 
heaven !” 

The girl covered her face with her hands, and was 
motionless and dumb in her great horror and despair. 
Monk did not dare to break the silence. He had 
expected tears and moans, and was awe-struck and 
frightened at the manner in which Bernice had received 
the fatal news. 

The slow minutes wore on. Bernice lifted her head 
at last, and turned toward him her white, anguished 
face, and her eyes full of a brooding horror. She had 
shed no tears, and Monk trembled as he looked upon a 
grief so mute, so terrible. 

“ They are all gone now,” she said, in her broken 
voice — “ all gone ! Poor father and mother ! They 
are happy in heaven. It is better so. I would not 
have them back.” 

“Mr. Gwellan was afflicted with heart disease, and 
was on his way to Scotland to consult a physician,” said 
Monk, soothingly. “He could not have lived much 
longer, at the best. They have sent out a new minister 
to St. Kilda, and you would find no place there.” 

“ Is there a place anywhere for me ?” asked Bernice, 
brokenly. “ I have no right to any name, no home any- 
where. I am only a dependent upon you. I did not 
mind that, Gilbert, when I expected to go back to Roy 
and to have means to repay you, at least for the money 
you have expended upon me so generously ; but now ! 


252 


The Haunted Husband. 


I cannot be dependent longer. If I have ceased to be 
Roy’s wife, I have ceased to be your sister. I shall 
no longer be a dead weight upon you.” 

“ My poor little Bernice ! What can I say to you ? 
You are no dependent upon me. I freely give you all I 
have. I loved you as a brother from the moment I 
saw you. It was that brotherly love that took me to 
your tomb for a last look upon your face. It was that 
love that made me refuse to believe you dead, even 
when Chetwynd had caused you to be put as he sup- 
posed, forever out of his sight. During these past fif- 
teen months I have watched the unfolding of your 
beauty with tenderer affection still. Your sorrows and 
disappointments have drawn you nearer to me still. 
And now, Bernice, I love you with all my heart and 
soul. Come to me, Bernice. You are not alone while 
I live. Come to me, my darling. Be my wife, and let 
me devote my days to the task of making you happy.” 

He held out his arms to her, but she shrank from him, 
trembling like a leaf. 

“ And you, also !” she whispered. “ I have lost my 
last friend. Ah, now I am indeed alone !” 

“ I do not understand you, Bernice.” 

“ My friend is transformed into a lover,” said Bernice, 
sorrowfully, “ and I have lost my friend.” 

“ But you have gained far more than you have lost, 
Bernice,” said Monk, gently, yet urgently. “ You have 
gained some one to share your sorrows, to minister to 
you, to rejoice with you in your joys, to weep when you 
weep ; some one to whom the world is brighter because 
you live in it ; some one who, for your sake, strives 
every day to be a better and nobler man.” 

“ Oh, Gilbert ! Don’t talk to me like this ! All I have 
left is my self-respect, and that I must maintain. To 
be perfectly frank with you, my French governess has 


In a State of Uncertainty. 


253 


repeatedly asked me what relationship I bear to you, and 
has often told me that, if I were not your relative, nor a 
young lady of fortune under your guardianship, I ought 
to leave your protection, for my very name’s sake. 
And so, Gilbert, I am not going back to Mawr Castle. 
I want you to crown all your obligations to me by let- 
ting me remain here at this hotel with Mrs. Crowl, 
until yon can procure for me a suitable situation.” 

“ You are surely wild, Bernice. I shall not consent 
to this absurd scheme of self-support. If you will not 
be my wife, you shall be my sister and ward, but I shall 
not let you go from me. In time, I know I shall win 
you to be my wife.” 

He arose, took her hand and felt her pulse. It was 
throbbing fiercely with feverish quickness. He feared 
to excite her by further discussion, and to strengthen 
her in her new resolves by further combating them. 
After a few remarks, therefore, on indifferent subjects, 
and an expression of sympathy in her bereavement of 
her foster parents, Monk took his departure. 

He closed the door behind him softly, and went 
down stairs and out into the street, half angry with 
himself for having broached the subject of his love 
until after Sylvia’s marriage to Lord Chetwynd. 

On being left to herself, Bernice’s thoughts reverted 
to her foster-parents, and the tears that had refused to 
fall before fell now in. a heavy rain. 

The violence of her grief soon exhausted her. Pale 
and with short, sobbing breaths, she lay back in her 
chair like a flower nearly beaten out of life by some 
fearful storm ; and as she lay there the door softly 
opened, and an old woman in a rusty alpaca gown, a 
scuttle bonnet, and a heavy black lace vail over her 
face, slowly and silently entered the room, closing the 
door behind her. It was the Hindoo ayah. 


254 


The Haunted Husband. 


The old East Indian ayah’s disguise was perfect, and 
Bernice could not have detected under it her mortal 
enemy. It must have been, then, some subtle instinct 
that warned young Eady Chetwynd of the near presence 
of danger. She rose up swiftly and silently and 
retreated toward the door of her bedroom adjoining, 
her big brown eyes dilating, and her white face, under 
all its calm bravery, indicating a quick, spasmodic 
terror. 

“ This is a private room, madam,” she said, with a 
gesture toward the door, endeavoring to speak quietly. 

The disguised ayah came a pace nearer. Something 
in her stealthy movement, like the springing step of a 
tiger, reminded Bernice of the Hindoo woman, and she 
knew her under all her disguise. The young marchion- 
ess made a further retreat. 

“ If you do not withdraw immediately,” said her 
ladyship, “ I shall ring this bell.” 

The ayah fumbled in her pocket and drew forth a 
soiled scrap of paper, on which some words were 
written. Then she moved toward young Lady Chet- 
wynd, extending the paper as she did so ; and Bernice’s 
sharpened vision caught the gleam of a glass vial in 
the woman’s hand. 

The young girl had conceived an awful terror of the 
stealthy Hindoo. She knew that the woman had fol- 
lowed her up to London with intent to kill her ; and on 
the moment, as the woman thus approached her with 
the extended document, the girl sprang back into her 
own room, and closed the door and bolted it, in a panic 
of affright. 

The act announced to the Hindoo ayah that her iden- 
tity was discovered, and that nothing remained for her 
but retreat. She made that retreat immediately, slip- 
ping back to her own room, and leaving her door ajar. 


hi a State of Uncertainty. 


255 


She had barely thus hidden herself, when she heard a 
rustling sound in the corridor, and beheld from the 
gloom of her darkened room the powerful figure of 
Mrs. Crowl, as that person, laden with parcels, passed 
into Lady Chetwynd’s parlor. 

Bernice had told Mrs. Crowl of her sinister visitor, 
but both supposed that the Hindoo woman had quitted 
the house, and they did not consider it wise to raise a 
futile alarm. 

The various excitements of the evening had alto- 
gether proved too much for Bernice to endure calmly, 
and she went to her bed. Mrs. Crowl sat up to 
acquaint Monk with the fact of the Hindoo woman’s 
visit. 

Gilbert Monk was passing the door on his way to his 
own room about ten o’clock, when Mrs. Crowl, recog- 
nizing his step, went out and called him into Lady 
Chetwynd’s parlor. She told him of Ragee’s visit, and 
he listened in horror and amazement. 

“ It seems, then,” said Monk, “ that the old Hindoo 
witch has discovered Bernice’s assumed name. She 
must have followed us up from Eastbourne to this very 
hotel. She means death to Bernice. We must watch 
our charge. We will leave London in the morning, 
and we must contrive to throw that witch off our trail. 
If she were once to know the way to Mawr Castle, 
Bernice would never be safe. This is a bad business. 
I am uneasy — afraid.” 

He went to his own room with a gloom upon him 
that he could not shake off. 

Meanwhile Bernice, alone in her own bed-room, was 
not asleep. She was thinking. She reviewed in 
detail all the events of her short life. She realized her 
desolation. She said to herself that she was forgotten 


2 5 6 


The Haunted Husband \ 


by all who knew her, and that there was no place for 
her on earth as Bernice Chetwynd. 

She shrank from living longer dependent upon 
Gilbert Monk. She believed now that he expected a 
recompense for all his care of her in the shape of her 
hand in marriage. Loving her husband with all her 
heart, she could not marry Monk. And, strangely 
enough, now that Monk had avowed for her a love deeper 
than the love of a brother, she began to shrink from 
him and to feel a sense of repulsion against him. 

She must earn her living some time ; why not begin 
at once ? She was fully competent to instruct children ; 
why should she not do so ? She could not return to 
Mawr Castle, and Monk would not consent to allow her 
to leave his care. She must, then, if she intended to 
help herself, go away secretly. And in stealing away 
from those she believed to be her friends, Bernice 
believed that she would also escape from the one she 
knew to be her enemy. She began to be in haste to be 
gone. 

At daybreak Bernice was up and dressed. Mrs. 
Crowl had not visited her during the night, and was 
now sleeping heavily in her own room on the other side 
of the parlor. Bernice had put on her travelling cos- 
tume, her only outer garments at command. Her little 
bag had been packed by Mrs. Crowl for travelling. 
She put on her hat, and then sat down at her window, 
emptied her pocket-book in her lap, and counted her 
small hoard of money, finding that she possessed some 
fifteen pounds. 

She put her pocket-book in her bosom, and buttoned 
her dress and jacket over it. She tied on her scarf and 
her doubled gray grenadine vail. She was all ready to 
start, and began to find a positive relief in the thought 
of battling with the world for her bread. 


A Poor Haven of Refuge. 


2 5 7 


She waited a little till the tide of shop girls began to 
move along Piccadilly toward Regent Circus, and then, 
with her heart throbbing wildly, she arose and unfas- 
tened her door, and stole into her private parlor, bag in 
hand. 

She could hear Mrs. Crowl breathing heavily. She 
crossed the floor and let herself out into the corridor. 
Gilbert Monk was sleeping in his room, and old Ragee 
was also asleep in her chamber opposite, unsuspicious 
of the fact that her prey was escaping her. 

Bernice glided down the stairs unnoticed. She 
paused in the lower hall. The door at the private 
entrance was open, and a boy was engaged in scouring 
the stone steps. As Bernice appeared, he straggled out 
into the street to speak to a passing shop-boy, and 
young Lady Chetwynd passed out at the open door 
into the street unchallenged. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A POOR HAVEN OF REFUGE. 

Bernice had no clearly defined plans on leaving the 
hotel. She knew no one in London. She knew noth- 
ing of the wickedness that lurks on every side in the 
great metropolis. She had money, and in her simplicity 
she imagined that she would easily find a home in that 
great wilderness of houses. 

But how to find the desired home she did not yet 
know. She joined the tide of shop girls, and walked on 
to Regent Circus in the gray chill of the early morning. 

She wandered on hour after hour, bearing her travel- 


The Haunted Husband. 


258 


ling bag. No one seemed to notice her. The few peo- 
ple whom she met appeared absorbed in their own 
affairs, and bestowed scarcely a passing glance upon 
the vailed and slender young figure that trudged so 
wearily onward. 

“ It is time I found lodgings,” thought Bernice, with 
a horrible sense of her loneliness creeping upon her. “ I 
must procure them immediately. It would be terrible 
to have the day wear on and the night come and find 
me shelterless.” 

But the task was not so easy as it seemed. 

There were placards in plenty in windows signifying 
that the houses to which they pertained were to be let. 
And there were little yellow bills and pieces of white 
paper in other windows, with the legend, “Apart- 
ments to let,” but the houses were for the most part 
dingy and cheerless, of the cheaper grade of lodging- 
houses, and Bernice recoiled from the frowsy heads at 
the windows, the broken panes of glass, and the slipshod 
maids on the steps. 

She turned from one street into another, growing 
more tired and less fastidious at every step. 

At noon, nearly exhausted, she went into a pastry- 
cook’s shop and asked for a cup of tea and a roll. 
These were supplied her, and she was given a chair, 
but such demands in that quarter of Kentish Town 
were apparently not numerous, and Bernice felt herself 
to be an object of considerable curiosity to the shop- 
keeper and single attendant. 

On paying her small bill at the counter, she inquired 
if lodgings were to be obtained in the neighborhood, 
adding that she was a stranger in London and could 
not give references. 

“ There are lodgings to be had in the neighborhood, 
Miss — plenty on ’em,” replied the shopkeeper ; “ but ref- 


A Poor Haven of Refuge 


2 5.9 


erences are generally required. Some lodging-house 
keepers may be willing to take pay in advance instead. 
A young girl like you ought not to be hunting lodgings 
by herself. There’s dangers and perils lurking on 
every side for a beautiful young creature like you,” 
and she looked with compassionate interest at the pure, 
pale, high-bred face, lit up by dark, sorrowful eyes. 
“ Why, you are a real lady, Miss. You surely ought to 
have friends somewhere.” 

“ My friends are dead,” said Bernice, her lips quiver- 
ing. “ My father was a minister of the Scottish Kirk. 
I am alone in the world, madam, and am come here to 
earn my own living. I want tb get lodgings while I 
seek a situation as governess.” 

The shopkeeper meditated. She was an elderly 
woman, with daughters of her own. She saw that 
Bernice was a stranger to London ways, that she 
seemed like a pupil fresh from a convent or place of 
equal seclusion, and she trembled at the pitfalls that 
lay before one so innocent, so unsuspecting and so 
guileless. 

“ I believe in you, Miss,” the woman said, abruptly, 
after a long, searching scrutiny of the lovely half- 
shaded face. “ I’m not a person easily taken in, as 
people will tell you, but I believe in you, and I’ll tell 
you of a respectable lodging-house where you may get 
a room. It’s around the corner in Victoria Road. It’s 
kept by a very good customer of mine, a woman that’s 
made a pretty penny. She’s a little queer, Miss, but 
her lodgers are all respectable, and the house is that 
neat you might eat off the.kitchen floor. The woman’s 
name is Mrs. Sharp, which sharp is also her nature. If 
you pay in advance and tell her I sent you, which my 
name is Gibbons, I know she’ll do well by you — as long 


26 o 


The Haunted Husband ’ 


as your money lasts. And you can’t expect strangers 
to do for you no longer, you know, Miss.” 

Bernice assented, and obtained the address of Mrs. 
Sharp, and then thanking the shopkeeper, set out in 
search of Mrs. Sharp’s lodging-house. 

Turning the adjacent corner, Bernice found herself 
in Victoria Road, a dingy street lined with rows of 
dull brick houses. Here, as elsewhere, were plenty of 
apartments to let, but young Lady Chetwynd pressed 
on to number forty-two, Mrs. Sharp’s residence. It was 
the corner house of the row, and presented a brighter 
and cleaner appearance than its neighbors. The stone 
steps were very clean, the windows were all spotless, 
and the brass knocker was polished like gold. Bernice 
sounded the knocker twice or thrice heavily. 

A servant maid admitted her into a very narrow hall, 
and Bernice asked for Mrs. Sharp. The maid ushered 
Lady Chetwynd into a small parlor, and hurried away 
to her mistress. 

Bernice’s gaze wandered about the room. Its aspect 
was chill, cold, barren and prim, and the very essence 
of respectability pervaded it. 

A heavy step was heard in the narrow, oil-clothed 
hall, and Mrs. Sharp entered the presence of her visitor. 

Bernice arose and bowed courteously, stating the 
object of her call. 

Mrs. Sharp listened till Bernice completed her state- 
ment, and then coldly said : 

“ So Mrs. Gibbons sent you to me, and you have no 
references ? I pride myself, Miss, upon the respecta- 
bility of my house, and I shouldn’t feel justified in tak- 
ing in a young person without references.” 

“ But I am a stranger in London,” said Bernice, with 
gentle sweetness and a shadow of pleading in her fresh 
young voice. “ I am very tired, madam, and I long for 


A Poor Haven of Refuge. 


261 


a place in which I can rest. My father was a minister 
of the kirk. He has recently died. I must earn my own 
living as a governess, and it will be of advantage to me 
to give as my address a very respectable lodging-house. 
I will pay you in advance.” 

“ I prefer gentlemen,” said Mrs. Sharp, showing signs 
of relenting. “ They can get their meals, all but break- 
fast, out.” 

“ I am willing to get my own meals, madam.” 

“ If you can wait on yourself and cook your own 
meals — not in my kitchen, though — and can pay in 
advance, and have no company, and live quiet, and are 
not out evenings, why, then,” said Mrs. Sharp, “ I don’t 
know but I’d consent to take you in. But one thing 
must be understood : When your money is gone you 
must go away quietly, without a word. Is that a bar- 
gain ?” 

“Yes,” said Bernice, “I agree to all this.” 

“ Then you can come this evening. There is a grate 
in your room, and you can buy a spirit lamp to make 
your coffee on. You can get meat roasted at the 
pastry-cook’s. Will you look at your room ?” 

“ If you please, piadam. I — I should like to stay 
now,” said Bernice, bravely, although her cheeks 
flushed. 

“ Indeed !” exclaimed Mrs. Sharp, suspiciously. 
“ Where is your luggage ?” 

“ All I have is in this bag,” answered Bernice. “ I 
am poor, madam — ” 

“ Hum ! I should think so. My room is sixteen 
shillings a week in advance, and no money no room. 
That’s my motto. Now if you want to see the room, 
come up.” 

Bernice assented, and Mrs. Sharp led her up three 
narrow flights of stairs to the fourth floor, and ushered 


262 


The Haunted Husbands 


her into the front room, which contained few, if any 
comforts beyond the barest necessaries of existence. 
But bare as was the room, Bernice looked upon it as a 
very haven of refuge. 

“ It is all in order,” she observed. “ Why may I not 
remain here now ? Here is the first week’s rent.” 

She produced her pocket-book, and took from it a 
sovereign. Mrs. Sharp saw that more money remained 
in the purse, and consented to allow her lodger to 
remain, 

“ I don’t know where to get a spirit lamp,” said Ber- 
nice, hesitatingly. “ I — I never went into a shop alone. 
Would you not kindly send a servant upon a few errands 
for me, madam ? I am willing to pay for the favor.” 

“ I don’t want any pay for allowing the maid to go, 
but if you choose to pay her, that’s your affair and hers. 
I will send her up to you,” said Mrs. Sharp, with 
unwonted graciousness, and the lodging-house keeper 
retired, soon sending up her housemaid. 

This young woman had an honest, trustworthy face, 
and Bernice liked her. She consulted with her in 
regard to her wants, and gave her a sovereign to expend 
for her in materials for housekeeping. The young 
woman departed, and was absent an hour, but finally 
returned with her arms full. She was followed by a 
small boy, who carried a basket full of stores. The 
housemaid emptied the basket and dismissed the boy. 

“ I’ve got every thing you mentioned, Miss,” she 
observed, “ and some things you did not speak of. 
There’s the Times as you was so particular to have. I 
did not buy it ; I hired it till evening. It’s been hired 
out all the morning, and was just brought back. Here’s 
fagots for the fire, and chill it is, and I’ll kindle a little 
blaze — you look so cold and tired. I’ve ordered in a 
bushel of coals, to put into your closet yonder. And 


A Poor Haven of Refuge. 263 


here is bread, and a cold roasted fowl, and a tea-kettle 
and a spirit lamp. And here’s nine shillings left.” 

Bernice bestowed a liberal gratuity upon the servant, 
who hastened to make up a bright fire, and to wheel up 
a big chair before it, and to fill the tea-kettle and set it 
on the hob. Bernice took possession of the big chair, 
and read over the columns of Wants in the Times. She 
had imagined that a situation as governess would be 
readily found, but she found no advertisement in the 
paper that seemed intended for her. 

“ I’ll advertise, myself,” she thought, suddenly, the 
idea striking her, as she believed, like an inspiration. 
“ I will write out an honest advertisement, saying what 
I can do. Surely, among all the millions of English 
people, some one will want me.” 

She brooded over the idea while the hotisemaid 
made her tea and placed the few edibles on the bare 
i table. When the girl was gone out Bernice drank her 
tea and ate her bread and jam, and a portion of cold 
! fowl, with actual relish, and then wrote with the small 
! gold pencil on her chain, upon a piece of wrapping 
! paper that had enveloped the sugar, a notice that ran as 
follows : 

“ Wanted — By a young lady without references, an 
orphan and a stranger in London, a situation as gover- 
ness. Understands English, French and German, 
music, drawing and dancing. Would accept a very 
small salary. Address Miss G., Times office.” 

It seemed to Bernice that this advertisement could 
not fail to secure the situation she desired, and she 
decided to put it in three of the morning papers. In 
the course of the afternoon she called up the house- 
maid and unfolded her plans to her, and the young 


264 


The Haunted Husband. 


woman undertook to procure the insertion of the 
advertisement in the newspapers. 

When the housemaid had retired, young Lady 
Chetwynd counted over the contents of her purse with 
a sigh. The sum she had thought so large only that 
morning was slipping through her fingers with unpleas- 
ant rapidity. 

I must get something to do before it is all gone,” 
she thought. “ At any rate, I have found a safe and 
respectable shelter. I will economize in my food, and 
make my money go as far as may be. There must be 
no more fowls, no meat ; and whatever my privations 
and poverty, I am not dependent upon any one now 
but myself.” 

Day after day passed, and no satisfactory response 
came to Bernice’s advertisement. She consulted Mrs. 
Sharp as to how she could become a governess. 

“ You will never be one, Miss — never ! You are 
too young, too ignorant of the world, too beautiful. 
Your life is a mystery. You don’t know who you are, 
nor whence you came. It an’t in nature for a young 
girl like you, who have been so tenderly nurtured and 
educated like a fine lady, who are a lady, to be wander- 
ing about so utterly friendless and Mrs. Sharp looked 
severely upon her young lodger. And no one will 
engage a young lady to educate their children who has 
no one in the world to speak a good word for her, or to 
say that she is a respectable young woman. People 
don’t trust their children to any and everybody without 
making inquiries. I advise you not to waste any more 
money in advertising.” 

“ Is there anything I can do without being called upon 
for references ?” 

“ Are you a skillful milliner ? Can you make dresses ? 
Have you any trade ? Do you understand any kind of 


A Poor Haven of Refuge. 


265 


handwork ? No ? Then your chance is a slim one. 
A genteel, fine lady without a trade, and without money, 
and without friends, is a helpless object, indeed. I’m 
sure I don’t know what is to become of you. You can’t 
expect me to keep you no longer than your money lasts.” 

“Certainly not.” 

“ I work hard for my money,” pursued Mrs. Sharp, 
in an aggrieved voice, “ and I won’t pay for a roof to 
shelter them as is too fine or too lazy to work. That’s 
what I won’t.” 

There was a light in her cold hard eyes before which 
Bernice shrank back afraid. She saw that the woman 
did not intend to lose money by her, but she did not 
resent Mrs. Sharp’s manner. To the contrary she 
spoke in a subdued, sorrowful voice, as she answered : 

“ I want work, madam, and I am willing and anxious 
to work. Can I not learn a trade ? Can I not learn to 
make bonnets or dresses ?” 

“ Who is to apprentice you and pay the necessary 
premium ? I don’t see anything before you but to 
become a maid-of-all-work ; and what lady would want 
a finer lady in her kitchen than herself ? I advise you 
to write to your friends, and have them take you away. 
Your money’ll soon be gone, and then will come the 
almshouse— or a return to your friends, if you’ve got 
any. You can think over what I’ve said, and when 
your funds get low you can decide what you can do.” 

“ I would like to pay for my lodgings a month in 
advance,” said Bernice, her face very white, and a 
brooding anxiety in her dusky eyes. “ I would like to 
make sure of a shelter as long as possible.” 

She made the necessary amount, and Mrs. Sharp 
wrote her out a receipt, writing materials being on the 
table. The landlady then withdrew, and Bernice was 
left to herself. And now began for young Lady Chet- 


266 


The Haunted Husband. 


wynd a struggle for existence, such as is endured by 
many a high-bred and educated young woman, and 
which involved so much of suffering, of “ hope deferred,” 
and of bitter anguish, that one recoils from record- 
ing it. 

During the three weeks of her stay in the house, 
Bernice had not made a single friend. Her fellow- 
lodgers seemed scarcely aware of her existence. Her 
landlady looked upon her with growing coldness, know- 
ing that Bernice’s funds were running low. Mrs. Sharp 
knew well the contents of the small parcels which Ber- 
nice now brought in for herself. She knew that her 
young lodger was growing paler and thinner day by 
day ; she noticed that the elastic young step began to 
flag, that the girl’s tread on the stair grew daily lighter 
and slower ; she saw that the dusky eyes grew larger 
and brighter, shining with a lustre as bright as unnat- 
ural. And knowing and seeing all this, Mrs. Sharp 
began to fear that her young lodger would fall sick in 
her house, and she grew anxious for the month to ter- 
minate, that she might send Bernice away. 

During all this time Bernice had seen no one whom 
she knew. Gilbert Monk had obtained no trace of her, 
although he had set Mrs. Growl and Flack to search for 
her throughout London, where he was convinced that 
she still remained. He had gone down to Chetwynd 
Park, and was waiting and watching for her there, 
knowing that sooner or later she would return to the 
old home and the dear presence that held such fascina- 
tion for her. 

And thus the month had gone by, and two days only 
remained to Bernice before she must become again 
homeless and shelterless. She had but a few shillings 
in her purse. She was weak, tired, anxious and sorrow- 
ing. And now came upon her the longing Gilbert 


A Poor Haven of Refuge. 


267 


Monk had anticipated — to look once more upon Lord 
Chetwynd’s face. 

“ I may not live long/’ she thought. “ I must see 
him. He need not — he must not — see me. I have my 
burial dress still. I can pass for a ghost as before, if 
danger of discovery arises. Gilbert Monk has long 
since given over the search for me, and is no doubt in 
London reading law. I must see Roy once more before 
she claims him. I am in no danger of discovery. I 
shall be very guarded. But I must learn when the mar- 
riage is to take place. I am dying with my yearning 
for Roy — my husband.” 

She could not withstand that sick longing of her soul. 
She persuaded herself that she would incur no risk 
of discovery. And on the very night before her rent 
was to expire Bernice packed her travelling-bag afresh, 
and stole out of her lodgings late in. the afternoon, 
unseen by any inmates of the house, and hiring a cab, 
proceeded to the railway station. And soon after dark, 
closely vailed, she was seated in a second-class railway 
coach on her way to Eastbourne. She alighted on 
reaching her destination, secured a fly at the station, 
and pursued her journey to Chetwynd-by-sea. Here 
she dismissed the vehicle, bidding the driver wait for 
her at the village inn, and in the dark, cool May night, 
with only a few stars gleaming through the azure dusk, 
she pursued her way on foot to Chetwynd Park — her 
lost home. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

NEARLY DETECTED. 

At the very moment when the wronged young Lady 
Chetwynd stole like a shadow into her husband’s house 
at Chetwynd Park, and crept up to a lonely attic to 
don her ghostly robes, in which she believed she might 
steal to her husband’s very side, and still pass for a 
spectre, or an illusion — at that moment Lord Chetwynd - 
and Sylvia Monk were alone together in the music- 
room. 

Miss Monk had been playing some brilliant fantasia 
upon the grand piano, and her jeweled fingers were 
still softly pressing the pearl keys, evoking discon- 
nected sounds, while her densely black, half- open eyes 
rested in a longing, absorbing gaze upon the fair face 
of the young marquis. 

Lord Chetwynd was walking slowly up and down the 
length of the room, his arms folded across his breast, 
a thoughtful shadow on his face. The mellow light 
filtered down through pale tinted globes upon Sylvia 
Monk’s dark East Indian beauty, and Lord Chetwynd, 
looking at her, noticed for the first time the pale terror 
and anxiety in her face and eyes. 

“ What is the matter, Sylvia ?” he asked, kindly. 

“ You are looking ill.” 

“ There is nothing the matter more than usual, Roy,” 
said Miss Monk, her fingers still dropping softly on the 
f268] 


Nearly Detected. 


269 


keys. “ I am not quite well of latb, and you have been 
too absorbed in your memorial school and your tenants 
to notice the fact ; that is all.” 

Lord Chetwynd looked startled and anxious. A 
deeper gravity settled about his delicate mouth under 
the shadow of his golden moustache, and upon his 
white brows. 

“ Have I seemed neglectful, Sylvia ?” he asked, in 
tones of self-reproach. “ I have been absorbed in my 
school, I know. I have never concealed from you that 
Bernice dead is more to me than any woman living. 
But I love you also, Sylvia. I appreciate your unselfish 
devotion to me, your gentle sweetness, your earnest 
love. Believe me, sorrowful and hopeless as I am, I 
am not insensible to, nor ungrateful for, the great gift 
of your pure, warm, true heart. In time, perhaps,” and 
his voice grew broken, “ in time I may learn to love 
you as you deserve to be loved. But now, Sylvia, be 
patient with me, and let the mantle of your love and 
charity cover all my short-comings.” 

She whirled around upon her music-stool. Lord 
Chetwynd felt for her a sudden pity. He moved toward 
her under the impulse of that tender pity, and took her 
in his arms. 

And just then a light, soft step came noiselessly 
along the flower-bordered aisles of the great conserva- 
tory, and approached the door of the music- room 
whence the sound of voices issued. The new-comer 
was Bernice, in her silken burial robes. 

All unconscious of the near proximity of the young 
wife whose death he mourned so despairingly, Lord 
Chetwynd bent in pitying affection above the false- 
hearted being who had wrought him so much woe, and 
whom he was promised to marry. 

He took Sylvia’s head in his bosom, and the swarthy 


The Haunted Husband. 


270 


East Indian face, witl^ its carnation cheeks, lay on his 
breast, and the black eyes looked love at him. And 
just then the sliding doors slipped noiselessly apart at a 
touch, and Bernice looked in upon them. 

Neither saw her. Chetwynd was gazing down into 
the black, fathomless eyes of Sylvia, and Sylvia was 
unconscious of all but him and her love for him. 

Poor Bernice stood transfixed. Ah, indeed, she 
thought, her place was filled. The caresses that had 
thrilled her loving soul were lavished now upon Sylvia. 
She looked at the pair wildly, and a low, smothered cry 
burst from her white lips. 

Chetwynd heard the faint sound, and turned and 
beheld her. 

For a moment he stood transfixed. Then, with a wild 
cry, he dropped Sylvia from his hold, as if she had been 
some inanimate thing, and bounded toward this seem- 
ing spectre. 

Bernice fled before him like a vision. 

Miss Monk caught a glimpse of the white robe, the 
whiter face framed in masses of floating, dusky hair, 
and with a shriek came rushing into the conservatory. 

Bernice flew on down the long flowery aisle, her eyes 
fixed upon the distant open door. She was light and 
fleet. She sped on before Chetwynd like a shining 
meteor. At the junction of another aisle she tripped 
and stumbled upon a misplaced flower-pot. Chetwynd 
now gained on her. His breathing sounded hoarsely in 
her ears. Her panic increased. She could not see the 
way before her. She stumbled again — and now Chet- 
wynd reached out his hand to grasp her. She was away 
again like a flash, but he had caught the lace frills of 
her short elbow sleeves in his hand, and the yellow 
film gave way and remained in his clutch, while she flew 
on and out at the open door. 


Nearly Detected. 


271 


He was at the door the next instant, but the seeming 
spectre had disappeared. There was a faint starlight, 
and he could trace the forms of the clumps of trees and 
shrubbery dotting the lawn, but the shining vision was 
nowhere in sight. 

He searched the gardens and lawns, the cliffs and 
the beach, but in vain. He never thought of looking 
into the shadow of the porch covering the garden 
entrance to the house. But there, on the deep garden- 
seat, Bernice had crouched until he had passed on 
toward the cliffs, and then she hurried into the house 
and up the private stair to the attics. 

Her escape had not been made an instant too soon. 
She had scarcely disappeared, when Miss Monk came 
rushing out of the conservatory, and turned her steps to 
the porch where the young marchioness had been 
hidden. 

“ The door is ajar,” muttered Sylvia, with a baleful 
gleam in her black eyes. “ She has gone into the house. 
She evidently intends to hide. As she does not intend 
to reveal herself, I am so far safe.” 

She closed the door, that Chetwynd might not be 
tempted to enter it on his return from his search about 
the grounds, and slowly re-entered the conservatory. 

“ I shall pretend that I did not see her,” she thought, 
halting in the doorway and looking out into the dim, 
fragrant night. “ It is best to treat her appearance as 
Chetwynd ’s illusion. She is in the house. Gilbert 
must not know of her presence here, and I must warn 
Ragee at once. My old ayah may find means to remove 
her forever from my path this very night.” 

Miss Monk returned to the music-room, and thence 
proceeded to her own apartments. She found the East 
Indian woman crouching before her boudoir fire. She 


272 


The Haunted Husband. 


told her briefly what had occurred, and enjoined her 
to an absolute caution and silence. 

“ Leave it all to me, Missy,” said the Hindoo. “ My 
lady shall not trouble you after to-night. I think she 
is gone up to the attics to change her gown. I will go 
and search for her. Go back to my lord with an easy 
heart, Missy. After to-night no ghost will haunt Chet- 
wynd Park.” 

The old woman spoke with a subtle menace which 
her mistress fully understood. The Hindoo went into 
the dressing-room and unlocked the Indian cabinet, 
extracting several articles from the secret drawer 
within. Then, with the face of a smiling demon, she 
concealed the articles in her bosom, and stole away out 
of the room, and crept stealthily up to the attics. 

Miss Monk paused to take a sip of her soothing 
draught, and then set out on her return to the music- 
room. 

In the hall, just outside the door, she encountered her 
brother, who was in dressing-gown and slippers, and 
appeared just aroused from slumber. 

“ What’s the row, Sylvia ?” he asked. “ What does 
all this skurrying up and down stairs mean ? What has 
happened ?” 

“Nothing! nothing!” cried Miss Monk, with an 
eagerness that aroused his suspicions that something 
was wrong. “I came up to my room for a piece of 
music. Go back to bed, Gilbert. I must return to the 
marquis, who is waiting for me.” 

She moved away as she spoke, and hastened to 
descend the stairs. Monk caressed his beard while he 
looked thoughtfully after her. She said she had come 
up to her room for a piece of music, but her hands were 
empty. Mr. Monk, being very astute upon occasion, 
whistled softly and went back to his room, drew on his 


Nearly Detected. 


2 73 


coat and boots, and also hurried down to the music- 
room. 

His sister was in the room alone, and greeted his 
appearance with a black frown. 

“ Do go back, Gilbert !” she exclaimed. “ Roy and I 
are having a private interview. He will not like this 
interruption. Go, or you will regret it.” 

“ Hum !” said Mr. Monk, flinging himself into a 
chair. “ I shall regret it if I do go, no doubt. I know 
you, my amiable sister, and I choose to remain here 
until your lover comes. Some game is afoot — Ha ! 
what’s that ?” 

There was a sound of hurried footsteps in the con- 
servatory, and Lord Chetwynd rushed into the music- 
room, pale, wild and disordered. Monk leaped to his 
feet in amazement. The marquis looked past him 
with a wandering gaze. 

“ Has she been back ?” demanded Chetwynd “ I 
have missed her.” 

“Who?” cried Sylvia and Gilbert Monk, in a breath, 
the former pale, the latter eager. 

“ Bernice — my wife ! Did she come back this way ?” 
repeated Chetwynd. “ My God ! Have I lost her 
again ?” 

“ Ah, has the spectre appeared to you again, my lord ?” 
questioned Monk, his face flaming. “ Has the ghost 
been here ?” 

“ Yes. Bernice came and looked in upon us, as Sylvia 
and I stood yonder. She sighed, or moaned, and the 
sound went to my soul. I saw her face, and it was pale 
and sorrowful, yet glorious in its beauty and loveliness. 
Sylvia saw it also — ” 

“ No, no — I saw no ghost !” 

Chetwynd turned upon Sylvia a look of amazement. 


The Haunted Husband. 


274 


“Surely you saw her,” he declared. “You looked 
toward her — you did see her — ” 

“ And I say I did not. I saw no spectre whatever. 
Do you think, my lord, that we are all victims of your 
peculiar craze ? I tell you again I did not see the appari- 
tion, or illusion, or whatever it might be called. I swear 
I did not see it.” 

“ And you looked toward yonder door, Sylvia ?” 

“ I did. I looked straight at yonder doorway,” 
affirmed the swarthy beauty. “ Had anything been there 
even a shadow, I must have seen it. But there was 
nothing there.” 

“ My lord,” said Monk, calming himself by a strong 
effort and speaking soothingly, “ you deceive yourself. 
Sylvia did not see her, and had there been a woman 
Sylvia must have seen her. You have experienced a 
recurrence of your singular optical illusion.” 

“ I will not hear that word again, Monk,” said his lord- 
ship, excitedly, his face flushing. “ ‘ Illusion !’ Why, 
she ran along the conservatory, and I heard her light 
footfalls. She tripped upon a flower-pot left in the path. 
I was as near to her as I am to you. I reached out my 
arm to grasp her — and I caught this !” 

He unclosed his clenched hand, and displayed a frag- 
ment of point lace, yellow and wrinkled and stained, 
with jagged edges, just as he had torn it from Bernice’s 
sleeve. 

Gilbert Monk and Sylvia stared appalled. 

Here was evidence such as they had not counted on 
that the spectral visitor was a living woqian. Both 
stood dumb, not knowing what to say. 

Chetwynd laid the scrap of lace flat upon his hand. 

“ The mystery deepens,” he said, hoarsely. “ But 
that I myself saw my wife die, but that I myself saw 
her buried, I should say that she lives and has been 


Nearly Detected. 


275 


here to-night. Look at this lace. It was on her burial 
robe — the robe she wore on her first evening in this 
house. She had the gown made in London. I remem- 
ber her innocent delight at the pattern of this lace. 
There were branching palms done in film, as one might 
say. And here is the palm nearly perfect. If my 
visitor were a ghost, would she wear tangible lace ? 
And whoever she is, how came she with this lace which 
I remember so well ?” 

“ Chetwynd,” said Monk, slowly, “ I think you are 
the prey of some designing woman who presumes on 
her resemblance to Bernice. Calm yourself. Look at 
the matter dispassionately, if you can. Bernice is dead 
so your visitor cannot be she. If it is not a spectre, 
then it must be, as I said, some designing woman.” 

“ But the face was pure and noble — ” 

“ That proves nothing. The face might even have 
been a mask. Let us resume your search, but very 
quietly, so that the servants may not suspect what we 
are doing. You search the park, and I will search the 
cliffs and beach. Shall it be so ?” 

The marquis assented and thrust the lace in his pocket 
and went out with a perplexed and troubled face. The 
mystery had indeed deepened, and his mind was in a 
state of chaos. He hurried out towards the park, into 
whose dark recesses he plunged and disappeared. 

Monk did not linger to speak to his sister. He, too 
hurried out of the house, but he did not go to the cliffs. 
To the contrary, he went to the garden entrance and 
stole into the house, and made his way up to the attics, 
as Ragee had done before him. 

“ I’ll find her up here,” he thought. “ She has come 
up to change her gown. I have been mighty near to 
ruin to-night. Once I get possession of her again I’ll 
hold her fast, so that she shall not escape me.” 


276 


1 he Haunted Husband. 


Gilbert Monk went from attic to attic m a vain and 
rambling search for Bernice. After a few minutes thus 
spent, he became conscious that some one was moving 
in the rooms in advance of him. He leaped to the con- 
clusion that Bernice was fleeing before him, and he 
hurried forward, intent upon her capture, moving swiftly 
and almost noiselessly, having removed his boots at the 
outset. 

He gained upon the stealthy person in advance, and 
soon became aware of the fact that she bad halted and 
was hiding somewhere in the stillness and darkness. 

He moved on more cautiously, determined not to pass 
his quarry in the darkness. He crept across a long, 
low, ill-lighted attic, at the end of which was an open 
doorway givinginto a smaller, darker room. Listening, 
he was sure that he heard suppressed breathing in that 
inner room. 

“ I have her now !” he said to himself, exultantly. 
“ She shall not escape me again. My glove of velvet 
shall conceal a hand of iron. Now, my lady, I have 
you like a bird in a cage. There is no outlet to yonder 
room I fancy, save through this. You are caught at 
last !” 

He hastened in his stockinged feet toward the low door- 
way, and passed into the deeper darkness of the inner 
room. 

In the same instant a figure just within the doorway 
sprang upon him, and a pair of long, supple hands stole 
about his neck, as seeking to strangle him. 

“ Ha ! I have you now !” hissed a voice which he rec- 
ognized as that of the East Indian woman. “ This time, 
girl, you die !” 

The long fingers twisted themselves like snakes 
around his neck and the old woman clung to him like a 
horrible incubus. But suddenly her fingers came in 


Nearly Detected. 


11 


contact with his beard. The shock of a great surprise 
unnerved her fingers. The thug-like hold on him 
relaxed ; and now Monk seized his assailant and flung 
her from him like some venomous reptile, hurling her 
to the floor, as he cried out : 

“ You accursed hag ! You here ?” 

“ You here, Mr. Gilbert ?” said the old Hindoo, in a 
choked voice, gathering herself up, and scowling at him 
through the darkness. 

“ Curse you !” said Monk, angrily. “ I ought to kill 
you, you infamous Thug !” 

The old woman muttered an unintelligible response 
in her own tongue. 

“ Get out of this !” said Monk, authoritatively. “ If 
you make another move against Lady Chetwynd I’ll 
have you sent away from Chetwynd Park. You tried 
to murder her ladyship at the skaters’ chalet. You’d 
better draw off now. You’re fighting me ; do you under- 
stand ? I know } 7 ou, root and branch. I overheard that 
little interview of yours with Sylvia some sixteen months 
ago, and I know all your schemes. I permitted the 
mock death and the mock funeral for reasons of my own. 
I have had charge of my lady ever since. I am work- 
ipg out schemes of my own, but they will not interfere 
with those of Sylvia. My sister shall be Lady of Chet- 
wynd. I am only trying to make a little money. Are 
you content now ?” 

The old woman snarled in dissatisfaction. She did 
not believe Monk’s protestations. Her determination 
that Bernice should die gathered new strength. But she 
realized, as did Monk, that they were wasting time in 
talking which should be devoted to pursuit. Therefore 
she said, with a hypocritical whine, which did not in the 
least deceive her opponent : 


278 


The Haunted Husband . 


“ If you say it’s all right, Mr. Gilbert, I suppose it is, 
and I’ll go down stairs.” 

With this she abruptly darted past him into the larger 
attic and glided into the corridor beyond. 

“ She has resumed her search,” muttered Monk. “ It’s 
to be a race between us which shall find Bernice first 
Lest some devilish instinct should guide old Ragee, 
whom the fiends protect, I think I’ll follow her. We 
are sure soon to find Bernice. And I will look in the 
upper garret to which Bernice sent me before.” 

He hurried out, but the Hindoo had disappeared. 

He sought for her, but he could not find her. He 
tramped from room to room, but she eluded him. He 
visited the little garret in which Bernice had before 
hidden, but the youthful marchioness was not there, 
and there was no token of her recent presence. 

He searched for hours, until he was fatigued and 
wrathful, and persuaded that he had been completely 
baffled. Then he went down sullenly to his own 
room. 

He had scarcely composed his features to even a 
semblance of their ordinary calm, when a knock was 
heard upon his door, and in obedience to his summons 
Lord Chetwynd entered the room. 

The young marquis still wore a pale, disordered 
countenance. His blue eyes were burning. His 
golden hair was tossed back from his bronze brows in 
strange dishevelment. He looked still excited, anxious 
and perplexed, yet determined to solve the mystery 
that encompassed him. 

“ I’ve been to your room twice, Gilbert,” said his 
lordship, abruptly, “ and you were not in. Have you 
just returned from your search ?” 

“ But five minutes since,” replied Monk, arising and 
proffering a chair. “ I have searched the cliffs and 


Nearly Detected ’ 


279 


beach and boat-houses, and have not found a trace of 
your singular visitor. I have even searched the house 
high and low, fancying that the visitor might be one of 
the housemaids masquerading for your benefit, but I 
have not gained any light upon the mystery.” 

“ The mystery will soon be solved,” said his lordship, 
with increasing calmness. “ I nave at last something 
tangible to work upon. So long as I supposed that I 
was dealing with the supernatural — and what else 
could I think ? — I was helpless. But this fragment of 
lace proves that my visitor is living, and I intend to 
know who she is. The mystery shall be probed to the 
bottom. At present I know not what to think, and I 
shall summon assistance in the solution of the affair. I 
shall need your help also, Gilbert. I shall telegraph to 
Scotland Yard in the morning for a skilled detective to 
be sent down immediately.” 

Monk changed color and his heart beat more quickly. 

“ As long as there is a possibility that some one of 
the servants may be concerned in the affair,” continued 
Chetwynd, “ I shall keep the identity of the detective a 
profound secret between ourselves. I will not even 
intrust the telegram to a servant, and I shall beg you 
to take it over to Eastbourne and transmit it yourself. 
I can trust you, Gilbert, but whom else? I shall not 
know until I have solved this mystery.” 

“ I shall be glad to be of service to you, Chetwynd. 
Command me in any way you please. I will set out at 
daybreak, if you like. And the better to conceal my 
errand from the household here, I’ll walk over to 
Chetwynd-by-sea and hire a fly at the inn there.” 

Lord Chetwynd acceded, and drew out his note- 
book and wrote a message upon a loose sheet, address- 
ing it to the superintendent at Scotland Yard, London. 
He gave this into Monk’s hands, enjoining him to 


280 


The Haunted Husband. 


dispatch it at an early hour of the morning, and soon 
after withdrew. 

“ There’s trouble ahead,” muttered Monk, “unless I 
capture the girl again. She’s not in the attics. I dare 
say she’s got off. I’ll have to send the telegram, for 
any treachery in regard to it would be speedily de- 
tected,” 

Soon after daybreak he left the house, and set out on 
his walk to the neighboring village. It was broad day- 
light when he entered the inn-yard and a stable-boy 
came forward to meet him. 

“ I want a fly to take me to Eastbourne,” said Monk, 
abruptly. “ How soon can you have it ready?” 

“ There’s one here now ready to start, sir,” replied 
the boy, “ which it belongs to Eastbourne, and brought 
over a lady as wor vailed last night. The lady got 
out up the street, and told the driver to come here and 
wait for her, but she have give un the slip, and hasn’t 
been nigh un since. And the driver are ravin’ mad 
because he’s to get no pay for the return trip.” 

“ Ah !” said Monk. “ I’ll go back with him. The 
lady has given him the slip, has she ? Is the fly ready 
to start this moment ?” 

The stable-boy replied in the affirmative, and con- 
ducted Monk into the stable-yard, where the vehicle in 
question was in waiting. The driver was buckling a 
last strap and swearing at his horse. 

Monk entered into negotiations with the cabman, and 
hired the vehicle to convey him to Eastbourne, the 
stable-man not choosing to allow his horses to go out 
before their breakfast. Monk gave the cabman money 
for drink, and so loosened his tongue, and obtained a 
description of the lady passenger who had come over to 
Chetwynd on the previous night. The description, as he 
had expected, tallied with the appearance of Bernice. 


Nearly Detected. 


281 


But why had not Bernice returned to the villiage after 
her visit to the Park, and gone away in the cab ? Had 
the Hindoo found and killed her ? Or was she still in 
hiding at Chetwynd Park ? 

These questions occupied Monk during the journey to 
Eastbourne. He sent his telegram, and waited for an 
answer. As soon as it came, he engaged a hansom cab 
and set out on his return to Chetwynd Park, arriving 
home soon after the nine o’clock breakfast. He had 
his repast alone, and subsequently an interview in the 
library with Chetwynd, after which he went up to his 
.sister’s rooms. 

Ragee was in attendance upon her mistress, but the 
Hindoo woman’s head was bound up in her turban as 
in a bandage, and there were plasters on her face. She 
walked lame also, and Monk leaped to the conclusion 
that she had had a personal conflict with some one — 
probably with Bernice. H e regarded the woman keenly, 
and detected a smouldering rage in her stealthy eyes, 
and he knew by that tigress look that Ragee had found 
her victim after the East Indian woman had parted from 
him. And if she had found Bernice, what then ? 

He went out from Miss Monk’s room full of fears and 
tremblings and muttered, as he stole again to the 
lonely attics : 

“ Ragee found Bernice — that is clear. She must 
have killed her. But if the girl escaped her fangs, she’s 
in hiding somewhere now, and I must get her away 
before the detective officer comes. What if he were to 
find her ! Once get her safely out of the way, and I 
can defy him. My tracks are covered.” 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE YOUNG WIFE’S DESOLATION. 

And where all this while was Bernice ? 

Had the Hindoo woman really found and killed her, 
as Gilbert Monk was half persuaded ? 

We related how she escaped by the private stair 
leading up from the garden entrance to the attics. She 
hurried on through the larger rooms, lighted by dormer 
windows, to a small dark chamber, in which was a light, 
movable ladder, communicating by an open trap-door 
with a low garret above. During her secret stay of 
weeks in the upper regions of the house, she had dis- 
covered this retreat, and had made use of it. It was 
not the great garret to which she had sent Gilbert 
Monk in quest of her effects, and she was convinced 
that he did not know of its existence. She climbed 
swiftly up the ladder into the garret, drew up the lad- 
der, and closed the trap-door. Then she sat down in 
the dark and stillness, listening. 

There came no sound of pursuit. 

Breathing hard, like some wild hunted creature, Ber- 
nice waited until her heart had calmed its tumultuous 
beatings and her sense of hearing had become acute. 
Then she rose softly and produced from among the 
rafters a lantern and a match. She struck a light. 

[282] 



The Young Wife's Desolation. 283 


The room was very bare, with naked floor and rafters. 
There was no window, but the pale light stole in through 
chinks in the roof. There was quite a draught of air 
blowing. This room had been Bernice’s most secret 
hiding-place, and there was still a small store of biscuits 
here. 

Bernice groped among the rafters and took- down 
her dressing-bag and travelling attire. She threw off 
her now draggled white silk gown with its torn lace, 
and rolling it up, thrust it among the crevices overhead. 
Then she hastily dressed herself in her neat gray cos- 
tume, put on her hat and vail, and was ready to depart. 

She lifted the trap door and listened cautiously. 

After listening a long time she lowered the ladder to 
the room below. Then she crept down, and not wait- 
ing to hide the ladder, she crossed the attics and 
began her descent to the lower floors. 

Stair by stair she descended, meeting no one. She 
reached the second floor in safety. Her heart beat like 
a drum. She hardly dared continue her descent, but 
equally she dared not linger in the house. She crossed 
the great upper hall like a shadow, and approached the 
private stair leading down to the garden entrance. 

The private stair had been greatly used by Bernice 
while she had been mistress of the Park ; but it was not 
frequented by the servants, who had their own separate 
staircases. Bernice had, therefore, no fear of encounter- 
ing any one upon it. 

She stood at the upper landing a moment in hesita- 
tion. All was still below. There was no commotion in 
the household, no sounds of excitement or alarm. 
Breathing more freely now, she began the descent very 
slowly. 

The stair was of the class known as boxed, the walls 
enclosing it on both sides. Bernice had descended half 


284 


The Haunted Husband. 


way in the gloom, keeping one hand on the wall, when 
the door at the foot of the staircase opened, and the old 
East Indian woman, Ragee, bearing a candle high 
above her head, entered the stairway and began the 
ascent. 

There was no friendly niche here for concealment. 
A sound of retreat would arouse the Hindoo’s attention 
and precipitate discovery. Bernice shrank back against 
the wall, unable to advance or retreat, motionless as if 
paralyzed. 

On came the old woman, her turbaned head bent, her 
weird and withered face in shadow, her clinging gar- 
ments rustling without sound. Bernice experienced a 
very panic of fear.' She crouched against the white 
wall, her wild eyes starting. 

When the ayah had come midway of the stair, her 
level gaze suddenly rested upon the girl’s feet, half- 
hidden in gray drapery. 

She halted and looked up. 

There was a moment of awful suspense. The ayah’s 
stealthy eyes gleamed as she recognized young Lady 
Chetwynd. The brown hand that upheld the candle 
above her turbaned head trembled, and the light flick- 
ered. The other brown hand clenched itself, as if the 
long and bony fingers longed to strangle the crouching 
girl. 

The two stared at each other in an awful fascination, 
Bernice’s eyes dilating and burning like stars from out 
the pallor of her lovely face. 

Then the ayah opened her shriveled mouth and gave 
vent to an inarticulate growl that might have come 
from the throat of a wild beast. 

Bernice did not wait for words or actions She saw 
in the ayah the spirit of Murder incarnate. She read 
aright the horrible look in those beast-like eyes — the 


The Young Wife's Desolation. 


285 


swift motion of the Hindoo’s hand to her bosom, as in 
quest of a deadly weapon. 

Without a cry, without a word, with a quick, unex- 
pected spring, Bernice upraised her crouching figure, 
and darted down the stair, overturning the old woman 
and extinguishing the light. The ayah bounded from 
step to step like an India rubber ball, unable to arrest 
her progress or recover her balance, receiving those 
wounds and scars which Monk noticed on the following 
day. And before her coiled-up figure the young fugi- 
tive fled like the light, and darted out into the little 
dim, deserted hall below. 

The garden door was still ajar, the butler not yet hav- 
ing made his rounds and closed up the house. Bernice 
flitted through it and was again out of doors, panting, 
trembling, and frightened. She sped across the gar- 
den, keeping to the shadows of the clumps of trees and 
shrubbery, and reached the park in safety. But still, 
as if pursued, she hurried on like some maddened crea- 
ture. 

Not until she was in the very depths of the park did 
she pause, and then she sank down in the midst of a 
little dark thicket in a secluded spot, and permitted her- 
self to rest. 

For hours she lay on the cool, dew-wet grass, in the 
densest gloom. She wept away all her tears. She won- 
dered if the ayah would seek her here. She wondered 
if Gilbert Monk were at Chetwynd Park. Of course he 
would hear of her visit to her old home, but would he 
try to intercept her flight from Eastbourne ? She thrilled 
with a sudden fear that he would go with her up to Lon- 
don, and take her again under his protection. Poor as 
she was, and dark as was her outlook into the future, 
she could not go back with him to Mawr Castle, and 
“ compromise herself ” by a life of dependence upon him. 


286 


Z he Haunted Husband. 


who, being himself poor, could ill afford to support 
her. 

“ It is fortunate that I paid the driver of the fly that 
brought me from Eastbourne,” she thought. “ I cannot 
go back with him. Gilbert Monk will be at Eastbourne 
station in the morning. I must walk across the country 
to some other town, and-go up to London by train. A 
ten-mile walk — and weak as I am, I can surely walk ten 
miles — will bring me to another railway station. I must 
start at once.” 

And so, at about two o’clock of the dark, chill morn- 
ing, Bernice left the grand old park, and began her 
weary walk across the country. It was daybreak when 
she entered the village of Nunsgate, which she had vis- 
ited often in her drives with Lord Chetwynd. She made 
her way to the station. The waiting-room was open, 
and Bernice shrank into a corner of it, and there 
remained, deeply vailed, until the express train came 
crashing in from Eastbourne on its way to London. 

A guard put her into a ladies’ coach', and the train 
resumed its swift progress along the line. So far Ber- 
nice was safe. She had escaped all perils attending 
her adventure, but how lonely she was ! how heart- 
sick ! how wretched ! Never in her life had she felt 
more desolate than at that moment. It was as if the 
shadow of some gigantic evil in the near future had 
fallen upon her. 

No adventure occurred to young Lady Chetwynd 
during her return journey to London, and she alighted 
at London Bridge station in safety. The morning was 
well advanced and the May day was bright with sun- 
shine. Bernice drew her doubled gray vail over her 
face, took up her bag, and signalled a cab, which she 
entered. She gave the order, “ Victoria Road, Kentish 
Town,” and settled back upon the worn and grimy 


The Young Wife's Desolation. 287 


cushions, and was presently being - borne slowly over 
crowded London Bridge on her way to the distant sub- 
urb. 

The drive was long and the young marchioness 
employed a portion of her time in studying the printed 
table of fares pasted on the inner wall of the vehicle, 
and making an anxious computation of the distance 
from London Bridge to her destination. Having settled 
the probable amount of her fare in her own mind, she 
drew out her pocket-book and emptied its contents in 
her lap. Her gold was all gone, and only silver and 
copper remained. Even at sixpence per mile, most of 
her small fund would be consumed in cab hire. 

“ I shall have but two shillings left when I arrive at 
my lodgings,” she thought, “ the month for which I pay 
my rent expires to-day. How am I to pay a week in 
advance ? Mrs. Sharp has warned me that she will 
not trust me. But surely she will not turn me away 
penniless, friendless, and homeless. I will work for her ; 
I know she will not refuse me a night’s shelter while I 
make the last effort to find something to do.” 

She shivered a little, and was very grave during the 
remainder of her drive. The cab drew up before her 
lodgings at last, and Bernice alighted. She inquired 
the amount of her indebtedness, and the cabman named 
a sum that swept away all her small fund, except a soli- 
tary sixpence. She paid his demand, and ran up the 
steps of the old lodging-house, while he drove away in 
triumph. 

Her loud knock upon the door was answered by the 
trim housemaid who had served her. Bernice greeted 
the girl with gentle courtesy, and essayed to pass on to 
the stair. But the housemaid, with unusual prim 
demeanor, interposed, preventing her ascent, and saying: 


288 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ Step in the drawing-room, Miss. Mrs. Sharp wishes 
to see you.” 

Bernice turned aside and entered the little drawing- 
room, which, even on that bright May morning, was 
chill and dark. She sat down in a chair near the grate, 
now filled with an array of gray-colored tissue paper, 
and waited with vague uneasiness for the appearance of 
the lodging-house keeper. 

In the course of a few minutes a heavy step was heard 
in the hall, and Bernice arose to her feet as the door 
opened, and Mrs. Sharp entered the room. 

The appearance of the landlady was far from reas- 
suring. She looked more cold, angular, and severe 
even than usual. There was a forbidding frown on her 
brows, and a steely gleam in her hard, cold eyes that 
startled Bernice. Nevertheless the girl forced a faint 
smile to her sorrowful face, and held out her hand in a 
sort of faint imploring. 

But Mrs. Sharp drew herself up in virtuous anger, 
and withheld her hand, her frown deepening. She 
looked the incarnation of respectability, and regarded 
Bernice as if the girl had been a leper. 

“ Well,” said the woman, with a long breath, “ so 
you are back again, Miss Gwyn ? I did not expect you 
back.” 

Bernice looked bewildered. She knew of no cause 
for Mrs. Sharp’s altered demeanor, and failed to com- 
prehend it. 

“ I have not given up my room, madam,” she said 
gently. “ I could not have done that without speaking 
to you, of course.” 

“ Indeed ! Well, Miss, I’d have you know that this 
house is a respectable house, and prides itself on its 
high respectability. I ought never to have taken 
under my roof a young woman as could give no refer- 


The Young Wife's Desolation . 289 


ences, nor no satisfaction as to where she came from. 
I’m rightly punished ; and I wonder, that I do, at your 
brazen impudence in coming back here,” said Mrs. 
Sharp, severely. 

“ But what have I done ? You treat me as if I had 
been guility of some crime." 

Mrs. Sharp met the gaze of the girl’s brave brown 
eyes, and was staggered. The innocent child face, 
with its pure brows, its sorrowful mouth, its sweetness 
and nobleness, its half-haughty, half-pleading expres- 
sion, made a sudden and strong appeal to her better 
feelings. 

“ Perhaps I’m wrong," said the woman, more quietly. 
“ Only you must own, Miss, that it had a bad look, your 
slipping off so secret-like, yesterday — you that said you 
had no friends in Lunnon — and a staying off all night, 
and coming back at this late hour of the morning. 
And your taking your bag showed that your going was 
premeditated. I supposed that as your time here that 
you’d paid for was up, you’d got other lodgings perhaps, 
or — or that you wasn’t what you seem to be. Have you 
got new lodgings ?” 

“ No, madam ; I have no place of refuge but this.” 

“ But you can explain your absence of last night, 
can’t you ? 

Bernice hesitated. The authoritative manner of the 
woman aroused her combativeness, and there was a 
shade more of haughtiness in her manner as she re- 
sponded, calmly, 

“ I went down into the country last night, and have 
but just returned." 

“ You went to visit friends ?” 

“ No, no. I have no friends there." 

“ Did you go to look for a situation ?". 

“ No ; I went on business," said Bernice, wearily. 


290 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ Business ! What business had you down in the 
country ?” demanded Mrs. Sharp, incredulously. 

“ I decline to answer that question, madam. Surely 
you cannot require to know all my private affairs,” said 
Bernice, her face flushing. “ You do not communicate 
to me all your affairs, Mrs. Sharp, and you should not 
expect to know all mine.” 

“ I’m not a young girl ‘ without references’ and seek- 
ing lodgings, miss,” said the lodging-house keeper. 
“ I’m a respectable woman, and I can prove it. Do you 
come back here expecting to stay in my house ?” 

“ Yes, madam. I — ” 

The grimness and hardness upon Mrs. Sharp's visage 
deepened. 

“ Do you refuse to explain your errand into the 
country, Miss ?” she demanded. 

“ I must refuse.” 

“ Is it a secret which you dare not tell ? Is it con- 
nected with your past life ?” inquired the woman, 
shrewdly. 

Bernice was silent a moment, and then bowed assent. 

Mrs. Sharp’s “ milk of human kindness ” seemed to 
turn to vinegar at this acknowledgment. 

“ Of course, Miss, you’ve a right to your own secrets,” 
she observed frostily. “ I don’t seek to intrude upon 
your confidence. I consider your room vacated. You 
can’t impose upon me longer. Are you going ?” 

“ But, Mrs. Sharp,” pleaded Bernice, the full terrors 
of her situation dawning upon her, while still she strove 
to be brave and to retain her self-command. “ I don’t 
know where to go.” 

“ Go where you went last night.” 

Young Lady Chetw3 T nd’s face whitened, and her 
slender figure trembled. 


The Young Wife's Desolation . 


291 


“ I cannot go there,” she said, “ and I have no 
money.” 

“No money, while you wear a watch and chain, and 
a brooch ! You won’t starve, Miss, although you pre- 
tend to be so dreadfully innocent,” sneered Mrs. 
Sharp. 

Bernice looked down at her watch and chain, gifts to 
her during the past year from Gilbert Monk. She had 
prized her watch for its usefulness, but had never 
thought of its monetary value. She supposed that Mrs. 
Sharp meant that she should sell her scanty store of 
jewelry, but she did not know to whom to apply in her 
emergency. 

“ Will you take my watch and let me have my pay in 
lodgings ?” she asked, eagerly, with a flash of hopeful- 
ness. 

“No ; I’ve told you I won’t have you under my roof 
at any price,” responded Mrs. Sharp, angrily. “ Can’t 
you take a plain answer ? You’ve done yourself up 
with me, Miss Gwyn is your name, which I doubt — and 
you had better leave my house before I summon a 
policeman to fetch you out !” 

The insult, uttered in a loud, threatening voice, had 
its effect. Bernice restored her empty purse and the 
sixpence to her pocket, bowed haughtily, and moved in 
silence to the door. Mrs. Sharp did not utter a word to 
detain her. Bernice passed out into the little hall, meet- 
ing the housemaid outside the drawing-room door, where 
the young woman had been diligently employed in 
listening, and hurried out into the street. 

She was still dazed and bewildered. She could not 
yet understand why Mrs. Sharp had treated her with 
so much harshness and suspicion ; but at last, as a 
glimmering of the truth dawned upon her, her eyes 
flashed and her cheeks burned, and she walked on 


292 


The Haunted Husband. 


swiftly, turning corners and increasing the distance 
between herself and Victoria Road, her heart swelling 
in a vain indignation. 

“ It will be as easy to find other lodgings as to find 
the first,” she thought. “ And I have my watch with 
which to pay my rent.” 

But without references, she could not find respect- 
able lodgings. She hunted all day, without success. 
Night came on. Still she hunted for some place of 
rest. 

Hour after hour she walked on. Rousing herself at 
last as from a trance, she started, hearing church bells 
chiming the hour of ten. 

“ So late !” she murmured. “ I have walked since 
morning. Where am I to sleep to-night ? Where am 
I?” 

She stared about her, the aspect of the place in which 
she found herself seeming strange to her. She was in 
a dingy square pervaded by a foreign look and air. 
She was now too tired to go further, and so faint and 
hungry that she could think of little but food. 

“ I can go no farther,” she said to herself. “ I must 
sit down and rest. Ah, 1 am very tired !” 

She sat down upon a door-step, and the glare of a 
gas lamp fell upon her face. She had thrown back her 
vail, and her pale face, pure as a star, shone in the full 
glare. A man came sauntering up the street. He kept 
in the shadows, as if he feared the police. He walked 
past Bernice, turned when he had passed her, looked 
back, and then approached her swiftly. He came up to 
her and seized her arm in a fierce grip, before Bernice 
had even noticed him. 

“ Ha ! I’ve found you at last !” he ejaculated hoarsely. 
“ It's Miss Gwyn !” 

Bernice started back with a low cry of terror. Some- 


The Young Wife's Desolation . 


293 


thing in that evilly exultant visage thrilled her with 
strange fears. Monk had always treated her with respect 
and affection, and Mrs. Crowl and Flack had been re- 
spectful and attentive servants to her. She still regarded 
Monk as her best and only friend. Why, then, this strange 
and sudden horror of Monk’s confidential servant? 

She drew her arm free from Flack’s grasp and said 
haughtily, yet not rising : 

“ You forget yourself. How dare you lay your hand 
upon me ?” 

“ I beg your pardon, Miss,” said Flack, humbly, sink- 
ing into the assumed 'character he had so long sup- 
ported. “ I did forget myself all along of the excite- 
ment of seeing you so suddent. Oh, Miss, where have 
you been so long? Mrs. Crowl is almost sick with 
grief. She and I are waiting here in London to find 
you. Our lodgings are near here. If you need money, 
Miss, she’ll give it to you. If you want to be a govern- 
ess, which Mrs. Crowl says you mentioned to her, she’ll 
find a situation for you. You need not see Mr. Monk 
again, if so be you don’t wish to. Only come .with me 
to Mrs. Crowl in Lisle Street. Mrs. Crowl is just a 
ordering up her hot supper of stewed fowl and tea and 
> toast,” he added, artfully. 

Bernice reflected. She had withdrawn herself from 
Monk’s protection because he expected her to marry 
him in return for his kindness to her, but surely she 
might accept Mrs. Crowl’s protection for a single night. 
She could not stay in the streets. 

L “ I will go to Mrs. Crowl, but only for to-night,” she 
I said at last. “ To-morrow I must look for something to 
' do. Lead the way, Flack. I will follow you.” 

Had she refused to accompany him, Flack would 
have risked everything and carried her by force. Well 
pleased that she had fallen so readily and unsuspect-. 


294 


The Haunted Husband . 


ingly into the trap prepared for her, he led the way 
from the dingy square toward the neighboring street, 
where Mrs. Crowl and he had lodgings, and Bernice 
wearily followed him. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

INVESTIGATING THE MYSTERY. 

The answer from Scotland Yard to Monk’s telegram 
had been to the effect that the superintendent would 
place one of his best men at Lord Chetwynd’s service, 
and that the officer thus detailed would arrive at East- 
bourne upon the following day by the morning express. 

The young marquis had resolved that the real char- 
acter of the detective officer for whom he had sent 
should be made known only to his most trusted friends, 
namely — Sanders and Gilbert and Sylvia Monk. He 
would not impart the secret even to the butler or the 
housekeeper, lest in some way it should transpire, and 
so defeat his object. 

Accordingly he gave orders that a room should be 
prepared for an expected guest. And in order to pre- 
pare the officer for the role of guest, he ordered a car- 
riage at a suitable hour upon the following morning, and 
drove over to Eastbourne to meet the detective, intend- 
ing to fully enlighten him as to the cause of his own dis- 
quiet before the officer should arrive at Chetwynd Park. 

He drove directly to the station, arriving just as the , 
train steamed slowly in. He alighted and made his 
way to the platform, and surveyed the passengers as 
they stepped out from the coaches. 


Investigating the Mystery. 


295 


From one of the first-class compartments issued his 
recent travelling companion, the great explorer of Tar- 
tary, Mr. Basil Tempest. 

Forgetting his errand at the station in his surprise, 
Chetwynd sprang forward with outstretched hands and 
hearty welcome. 

“ My dear friend,” he exclaimed, “ I supposed you had 
forgotten me. You are surely bound to Chetwynd Park, 
are you not ?” 

“ I have run down unannounced to make you a little 
visit, my lord. I have borne your kind invitation in 
mind, but have not been able to accept it until now.” 

“ You have given me a pleasant surprise, sir. I feel 
flattered that you have abandoned all the grand ban- 
quetings gotten up in your honor for a visit to me.” 

“ I count Lord Chetwynd as one of my few friends,” 
said Tempest, with a bitter smile, “ and I am not such a 
prodigal as to forget a friend.” 

A little man, who had emerged from a second-class 
coach, and who had been wandering about the platform, 
questioning the station-master, now approached Chet- 
wynd, raising his hat. 

“ Have I the honor of speaking to Lord Chetwynd ?” 
the stranger inquired. 

The marquis bowed assent. 

The stranger, with a deeper inclination of his head, 
presented his lordship a card, upon which was inscribed : 


Mr. Tom Bisset, 

Scotland Yard. 


The little man was the detective who had been placed 
at Lord Chetwynd’s service, and was one of the shrewd- 
est and most acute men in the force. 


296 


The Haunted Husband. 


The marquis greeted him politely, and surveyed him 
with a sense of disappointment. He was a little, dapper 
fellow, very gentlemanly of demeanor; he was, in fact, 
of gentle blood, and had taken to his present calling 
from sheer love of it. 

Despite his conviction that Mr. Bisset would be more 
ornamental than useful at the present crisis, Lord 
Chetwynd saw that the detective officer was a gentle- 
man, and he treated him as such. He introduced him 
to Tempest, not making known his character, and con- 
ducted both his guests to the large open barouche which 
was in waiting. A minute later they were driving 
slowly through Eastbourne, on their way to Chetwynd 
Park. 

“You are not looking so well as when I last saw you, 
my lord/’ said the great explorer, somewhat anxiously. 
“Your native air does not agree with you. You look 
harassed and worn, as if your days were full of anxiety 
and your nights sleepless.” 

“ I may as well tell you the truth, Mr. Tempest,” said 
the marquis, gravely, after a pause. “ Perhaps your 
clear head, in conjunction with Mr. Bisset’s shrewdness, 
may be of great help to me. We can talk freely — the 
old coachman is stone deaf ; I chose him on that account 
for this morning’s drive — and I have a conviction that I 
can unburden myself to you with utter unreserve. I 
came over to the station to meet Mr. Bisset, that I 
might have a long confidential talk with him before he 
enters my house, I am glad to admit you to our con- 
ference, Tempest. Mr. Bisset is a gentleman employed 
in the detective force. He comes from Scotland Yard.” 

Tempest looked surprised. Bisset appeared to him 
like a shallow Regent Street dandy. And why should 
Lord Chetwynd require the services of a detective 
officer ? 


Investigating the Mystery. 


297 


“ Have you been robbed, my lord ?” asked Tempest. 

The officer leaned forward with a faint show of inter- 
est on his beardless face. He supposed that he had 
been summoned to track out a robber, or discover some 
secret thief employed in the Chetwynd household, and 
had been by no means flattered at the task assigned 
him. 

“ No, I have not been robbed,” declared Chetwynd. 
“ I am enveloped in a strange mystery. I want that 
mystery solved for me.” 

“Of what nature is this mystery, my lord?” asked 
Bisset, with increasing interest. 

“ I must begin at the beginning,” replied Lord Chet- 
wynd. 

He then rapidly sketched his visit to St. Kilda ; his 
falling in love with Bernice, their marriage, her death, 
and her repeated appearances to him since her burial. 
At the conclusion of the narrative, Chetwynd breathed 
heavily, his face ghastly pale, his blue eyes wild and 
j strange in their eager wistfulness and yearning. 

“ A strange illusion,” said Bisset. placidly. “ I heard 
1 of a man once who fancied himself a tea-kettle, and 
was only cured of the delusion by being placed upon a 
hot stove. And you, my lord, believe yourself to be 
haunted ! The delusion is not unprecedented. A thou- 
sand men have deemed themselves haunted. By the 
by, the Miss Monk you mention is your lordship’s 
1 betrothed wife, is she not ?” 

“ Yes. We are to be married next month,” replied 
Chetwynd, gloomily. 

“ It is desirable, then, that you should rid your mind 
of this singular delusion as early as possible,” remarked 
Bisset. 

“ You have not heard all. You think me a mono- 
maniac, I see ; but listen. When my wife las-t appeared 


The Haunted Husband . 


298 


to me— the night before last— I pursued her. I boun- 
ded after her down the long aisles of the conservatory ; 
I grasped at her ; I caught her sleeve — ” 

“ Ah !” breathed Bisset. 

“ And I tore from it this bit of lace, a real, tangible 
proof that the garments at least were not spectral. 
Look !” 

Chetwynd took from his pocket a tiny packet, which 
being undone, was found to consist of a yellow, 
wrinkled, and torn scrap of old point lace. 

Bisset and Tempest examined the lace with eager 
curiosity. 

“ This puts a new view upon the matter, my lord,” 
said the detective, speaking no longer in a drawl, but 
in a quick, business voice. “ Your spectre was a living 
woman. How was she dressed ?” 

“ In her burial robes — a long, white silk gown, cut 
square at the neck, with frills of lace like that hiding 
her fair bosom, and with sleeves cut off at the elbows 
and edged with lace. She has always appeared to me 
in the same dress.” 

“ Hum !” said Mr. Bisset. “ Has any one else seen 
this white-robed angel beside yourself, my lord ?” 

“ Miss Monk saw her, and believed her a ghost. No 
one else saw her. She comes and goes like a shadow. 
I believe her to be a living woman. But who is she ? 
But that I know Bernice to be dead — What is this 
mystery, Mr. Bisset? I have sent for you to probe 
it.” 

“ I should say, at first glance," said the officer, “ that 
some young woman was trading upon her resemblance 
to the late Lady Chetwynd. There is no doubt, of 
course, that Lady Chetwynd is dead ?” 

“ She died in my arms, and lay for six days in my 
house unburied, and I then consigned her to the Chet-\ 


Investigating the Mystery. 


299 


wynd family vault in the Chetwynd parish church,” 
declared his lordship, solemnly. “ And yet, Mr. Bisset, 
I can swear that that scrap of lace came from my wife's 
burial robe. The pattern is peculiar, you will observe.” 

“ Had Lady Chetwynd much of this lace among her 
effects ?” asked Bisset. 

“ None of that pattern except upon the dress in which 
she was buried. The gown was made for her in Lon- 
don.” 

“We’ll look into the matter of this lace, my lord. 
Whoever is counterfeiting the dead Lady Chetwynd is 
I doing so skillfully, without regard to trouble or expense, 

I and consequently with an object. What that object is 
we must determine. Do you know of anybody who is 
| averse to your marriage with Miss Monk ?” 

“ I do not. My marriage with her is regarded as a 
matter of course,” replied Lord Chetwynd. “ I was 
engaged to marry her years ago, but she broke the 
engagement just before I went away on the cruise that 
resulted in my marriage to Bernice. My wife, in dying, 
urged me to marry again ; and since my return, 
although I have not ceased in my love and fidelity to 
the dead, I have renewed my former engagement with 
Miss Monk.” 

“ Hum !” said Mr. Bisset ; and somehow he uttered the 
simple ejaculation in a manner that made it pregnant 
with meaning. “ You must not deem me over-curious, 
my lord, but as you have desired me to assist in the 
solution of the mystery of Lady Chetwynd's sceptre, I 
I must ask you to be perfectly frank with me, and to 
give me considerable information that will seem, per- 
haps, to have no bearing upon the matter in question. 
I must know every member of your household, servants 
and all. To begin with the chief personage next to 
yourself, my lord ; who is Miss Monk ?” 


300 


The Haunted Husband. 


The marquis fancied that the officer’s questions were 
growing intrusive, and he replied, coldly : 

“ She is my step-sister and promised wife. She is 
the daughter of my mother’s second husband, Colonel 
Monk.” 

“ Born in India, my lord ?” 

The marquis bowed with a suspicion of haughtiness. 

“ And her brother is here also, my lord ?” 

“ He is, at present. He is reading law with Scotsby 
and Newman, of Chancery Lane.” 

“ Hum ! I know Scotsby and Newman,” said Mr.. 
Bisset, coolly. “ Excellent firm. So Mr. Gilbert Monk 
is reading law with them ? Thanks, my lord. And Mr,. 
Monk, I suppose, was also born in India. I have a par- 
tiality for India and India people. I was born in 
India, my father being an officer of the East India 
Company. I was out there during my first ten years, 
and I’ve been back since attaining my manhood. I 
suppose I know as much of India and the natives as any 
man of my age living.” 

The carriage rolled on through the village and up 
the hill beyond, entering the shadows of the park, and 
soon reached the house. 

The young marquis conducted his guest, Mr. Tem- 
pest, and the detective, Mr. Bisset, to the library. 
Here his lordship, at Bisset’s request, recapitulated the 
story of Lady Chetwynd’s spectre and the facts con- 
nected with its repeated appearances, submitting to be 
cross-examined even to the minutest details. The 
dandy-like officer dropped his little affectations of eye- 
glass and drawl, and listened with a keen interest, and 
exhibited a cool, calm judgment, a clear perception, 
and an acuteness and shrewdness that caused Lord 
Chetwynd to revoke his earlier opinion of him, and to 
respect and have faith in him. 


Investigating the Mystery. 


3° T 


“ I am to pass as your guest, my lord, equally with 
your actual guest, Mr. Tempest,” said the officer, when 
Chetwynd had given all the information in his power. 
“ How many people in your house, my lord, know me 
in my true character ?” 

“ Only Miss Monk, Mr. Monk, Mr. Tempest, and my- 
self,” was the response. “ The housekeeper, butler, 
and under servants, of course, are in ignorance of your 
business here, of your name, even. They have been told 
that I expect a guest.” 

“Yet I wish that even Miss Monk and Mr. Monk 
knew me only as your guest,” said the officer. “ Men 
of my profession like to work in secret. Most ladies 
have a maid or confidential attendant to whom they 
impart a good share of their secrets, and these maids 
are sieves, for the most part. But to return to business. 
Will you take me to your conservatory, drawing-room, 
and music- room, and point out the exact spots at 
which the spectre — we will call your visitor a spectre 
for the present, my lord — appeared to your lordship ?” 

Chetwynd assented, and asked Tempest if he would 
accompany them. 

“ If you please,” said the great explorer. 

He led Tempest and the officer to the drawing and 
music-rooms, and pointed out the spots where Bernice 
had first and last appeared— how she had escaped pur- 
suit, running down the aisle of the conservatory, and out 
of the open door. Mr. Bisset went over the ground 
carefully, and then said : 

“ My lord, I will undertake the solution of this mystery, 
but I desire you to leave the whole matter in my hands. 
Pemit me to come and go about your house at will, to 
question your servants, to have a night-key to one of 
your outer doors, and to comport myself in all respects 


1'he Haunted Husband. 


302 


as a rarely privileged guest, or as a member of your 
family.” 

“ You may make your own terms, Mr. Bisset,” said the 
marquis. “ I resign the management of the matter into 
your hands.” 

His lordship showed his guests to their rooms, and a 
little later luncheon was announced. Miss Monk did 
not appear at the table, but Gilbert came in, boyish of 
aspect, with a jovial smile on his swarthy face, and a 
great affectation of light-heartedness in his manner. 
Chetwynd introduced his step-brother to his distin- 
guished guest, and to the detective officer ; Monk 
greeted them courteously. 

Mr. Bisset had resumed his drawl and the use of his 
eye-glass. He appeared to Monk a mere dandy, whose 
skill in his profession was a matter of doubt, and Monk 
conceived a great contempt for him. 

“ Of course, Mr. Bisset,” said Monk, at an early pause 
in the conversation, speaking with a slight tinge of 
superiority in his manner, as to a social inferior, “ You 
have heard all about Lady Chetwynd’s spectre ? You 
are the gentleman from Scotland Yard, I take it, as Mr. 
Tempest is well-known to everybody, by name at least, 
as the great traveller and explorer. Chetwynd Park, 
although one of the grandest residences in England, 
has hitherto lacked that crowning charm — an authentic 
ghost. The deficiency appears to be supplied at last, 
and the Park may fairly be said to be haunted !” 

The flippancy of this address, and the off-hand allu- 
sion to Lady Chetwynd, whose name the marquis could 
not yet hear without pain, surprised and disgusted 
Monk’s listeners. He had meant to seem boyish and 
thoughtless, but he had in reality appeared coarse and 
heartless. 

“Perhaps you can give me some information, Mr 


Investigating the Mystery. 


303 


Monk,” said the detective, quietly. “Lord Chetwynd 
tells me that you were standing in the doorway of the 
conservatory looking out upon the garden upon the 
first night of the spectre’s appearance, Mr. Monk, and 
yet you saw nothing of her.” 

“ Nothing whatever.” 

Just then the butler opened the door and came in 
with a yellow envelope upon the salver, which he pre- 
sented to Mr. Monk, saying, apologetically : 

“ A telegram, sir, which a mounted messenger has 
just brought over from Eastbourne, and says is to be 
delivered immediate, sir.” 

Monk took up the envelope and tore it open. It was 
dated at London that very morning, and had been 
delivered with commendable promptness. It was brief, 
containing these words : 

“ The runaway client has turned up. No harm has 
been done. All is well. The client will be held until 
you come. You can take your own time. The client 
not being well, cannot be removed under a week, and 
in the meantime you can feel assured that all is safe. 

“ ScOTSBY AND NEWMAN.” 

Monk read the message twice. It was from Flack, 
his trusted confederate, as he well knew. The form of 
the message he had himself dictated beforehand, in view 
of this emergency. He comprehended its meaning. 
Bernice was safe in the hands of Flack and Mrs. Crowl. 

An evil joy and exultation flamed up into his swarthy 
face, and an evil gleam lighted up his small black eyes. 
Safe ! safe ! He could defy old Ragee and her hatred 
of Lady Chetwynd now. He could defy Bisset and all 
Scotland Yard. Bernice and his secret were safe ! 

Calming himself by an effort, he said to the butler : 


304 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ There’s no answer. Here’s a half-sovereign for the 
messenger. Send him to the Chetwynd inn to bait his 
horse, and tell him to have the bill charged to me. 
That’s all.” 

He gave the butler a gold piece, and that functionary 
departed. Then for the third time Monk read his letter 
exultingly. He looked up at last with a sense of uneasi- 
ness, to find Bisset looking carelessly toward him. 

“ Have you good news, Gilbert ?” asked Lord Chet- 
wynd. 

“Excellent news, my lord. It’s a telegram from 
Scotsby and Newman, and on business, too. It 
announces simply that a little speculation 1 entered into 
a while since has turned out a success. And, of course, 
I’m rejoiced. One so impecunious as I am can afford to 
laugh even at small successes.” 

Monk crumpled up his telegram, thrust it in his 
pocket, and then gave himself up to a few minutes' 
meditation. 

He did not deem it wise to proceed immediately to 
London. He desired to watch the movements of the 
detective officer, and to divert him if possible, from any 
approach to the truth. He feared that his departure on 
the very day of Bisset’s arrival might draw the atten- 
tion of the officer upon himself. As Bernice was safe 
in the hands of his allies, and not well enough to be 
removed to Mawr Castle, he could afford to wait a week 
before going on to see her. He felt it necessary to 
communicate with Flack and Mrs. Crowl immediately 
and as secretly as possible. 

Accordingly, directly after luncheon, he went to his 
own room to write a letter to his confederates. 

Bisset excused himself, and wandered away by him- 
self. 

Lord Chetwynd ordered out a pair of thoroughbreds, 


Investigating the Mystery. 


305 


and with Tempest went out for a swift gallop through 
the park and over the estate. 

Some two hours afterward Chetwynd and Tempest 
rode slowly through the village of Chetwynd-by-sea, 
and ascended the hill that led to the park. In advance 
of them a slender, gentlemanly figure was walking 
slowly, twirling in one gloved hand a small cane, or 
walking-stick, and smoking a cigar. 

“ It is Mr. Bisset,” said Tempest. “ He’s been down 
to the village.” 

“ What can he hope to discover by a visit at the 
village inn ?” said Chetwynd. “ He knows his own 
business, I suppose, however. I fancy that foppishness 
of his is a mask he likes to wear because his real nature, 
which he hides beneath it, is so different.” 

At this moment Bisset, who was still in advance of 
the riders, paused at the small lower gate of the park, 
and looked in. Gilbert Monk was in the very act of 
opening the gate, having a letter in his hand, which he 
was conveying to Chetwynd himself, instead of intrust- 
ing it, as was customary, to the butler and the post- 
bag. 

Bisset stepped back, raising his hat to Monk, who 
thrust his letter in his pocket and came out, securing 
the gate behind him. 

At this juncture Chetwynd and Tempest came up, 
and reined in their horses. 

“ I see that you have been over to Chetwynd, Mr. 
Bisset,” said the marquis. “ I fear I did not make it 
plain to you that the mystery of the spectre is known 
to but a very few, and to no one outside the Park, 
excepting Doctor Hartright of Eastbourne, the Chet- 
wynd rector, and my bailiff. You won’t get any light 
upon the matter in the village.” 

“ I beg leave to differ with your lordship,” said 


The Haunted Husband . 


306 


Bisset, respectfully. “ I have obtained light upon the 
mystery even in the village." 

The three gentlemen uttered exclamations of sur- 
prise. 

“ I’m afraid you’ve permitted yourself to be imposed 
upon, sir,” said Monk, with a sneer. “ You would do 
better to concentrate your attentions upon the house- 
maids.” 

Mr. Bisset did not deign to reply. He raised his hat, 
and moving aside out of Monk’s path, passed on. 
Monk went his way toward the village, and Chetwynd 
and Tempest cantered on toward the Park. 

There was a strange smile on the Dundreary face of 
the detective officer as he daintily picked his way, and 
proceeded slowly in the direction the marquis and the 
explorer had gone. 

“ How Mr. Monk does despise me, to be sure,” he 
said to himself. “ He thinks me a fop of the first 
water, a regular swell, you know. But about this 
mystery — my interest in it grows upon me. I have not 
lost time since I came ; of that I’m certain. And I 
think I’ve gained something like a clew that will lead 
me to success. Tom Bisset isn’t in his dotage yet. ’ 

Whistling softly to himself, he passed in at the lodge 
gates and sauntered slowly up the avenue toward the 
mansion. Miss Monk was walking to and fro on the 
marble terrace, as was her daily custom. Bisset sus- 
pected her identity at once, and stepping back into a 
deeper shadow caused by the trees, he stopped to regard 
her. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

A VEXATIOUS INTRUDER. 

Entirely unconscious of the keen regards of the detec- 
tive officer, Miss Monk continued to walk to and fro 
upon the marble terrace, in the shadow cast by the 
great house. 

Miss Monk was not happy. A haunting dread brooded 
upon her soul by night and day. Never for one moment 
did she feel safe. And now her disquiet was increased 
by thoughts of the new arrivals at Chetwynd Park, and 
more particularly of the detective officer. 

“ If it were not that Bernice lives and is at the Park — 
where else can she be ? — I could defy even him,” she 
thought. u Does Gilbert mean to let this detective spy 
out his secret and Lady Chetwynd’s identity ? I sup- 
pose he is not used to dine at a gentleman’s table, and 
I shall fairly dazzle him with my beauty and splendor. 
I think I may as well be civil to the fellow, although I 
wonder at Roy’s democratic way in treating him as a 
guest. I should like to meet the fellow before dinner, 
and before this great explorer Tempest appears, to claim 
my chief attention.” 

Fortune, as usual, seemed inclined to favor Miss Monk. 

The detective officer having studied the lady from 

, [307] 


308 


The Haunted Husband. 


afar sufficiently, now emerged from the shadow of the 
avenue limes and approached the terrace at an easy, 
sauntering pace, swinging his light gold-mounted walk- 
ing stick in one gloved hand, and twirling the curled 
ends of his scented moustache in the other. He wore his 
gold-framed eye-glasses, his tall silk hat, a dainty blue 
scarf with a huge diamond glittering upon it like a rain- 
drop in the sunshine, and his fashionably made garments 
were worn with the air of a Regent Street “ swell.” 
This the detective ! Miss Monk knew instinctively 
that he was the detective officer, and not Mr. Tempest 
or a chance visitor, and her lips curled in contempt as 
strong and keen as Gilbert Monk entertained for him. 

“ He a detective !” she said to herself. “ He’s a doll 
— a mere figure-head, in love with himself. Or he’s an 
amateur, sent to try his hand here and to learn his busi- 
ness. A child could hoodwink him !” 

Still with that contemptuous smile on her face, Miss 
Monk continued her slow walk. 

Mr. Bisset came up, meeting her squarely, and so 
arrested her steps, while he raised his hat and made her 
a Chesterfieldian bow. 

“ I have the pleasure and honor of addressing Miss 
Monk, I believe,” said the detective, in his courtly 
manner, with a fashionable drawl. 

Miss Monk drew herself up superciliously, and eyed 
him with a haughty stare. 

“ I am Miss Monk,” she said, coldly. “ You have the 
advantage of me, sir. I do not know who you are.” 

Mr. Bisset appeared in no way abashed at this repulse. 
He hastened to say, suavely : 

“ I am Mr. Bisset, Lord Chetwynd’s guest, Miss 
Monk.” 

“ The policeman ?” said the lady. “ Ah ! I suppose 
I should have said the detective officer. I’m sure I beg 


A Vexatious Intruder , 


309 


your pardon. You detectives are the aristocrats of the 
police force, as I understand it. No one would take 
you for a detective, Mr. Bisset,” she added, more gra- 
ciously. “ You look like a gentleman.” 

“ I am a gentleman, both by birth and breeding, Miss 
Monk,” said the officer, quietly ; “ but unfortunately, 
money does not always accompany gentle blood. It 
became necessary for me to support myself, and I chose 
my present profession from sheer love of it. Nature 
intended me for my present place, and I find a great 
delight in it.” 

“ Still, you must now and then find yourself baffled,” 
said Miss Monk, graciously, yet considering the officer 
an insufferable egotist. “ I suppose, now, Mr. Bisset — 
is that the name ? — that in all your professional experi- 
ence you were never called upon in a case similar to 
this ? Until the night before last we have believed 
Lord Chetwynd to be a hypochondriac — the victim to a 
preposterous illusion or delusion. But now, of course, 
we know him to be the dupe or prey of some designing 
woman, who presumes on her resemblance to the late 
Lady Chetwynd to play spectre. The scrap of lace 
torn from the woman’s sleeve shows clearly that it is no 
spectre, but an actual woman. She may have purposely 
allowed him to catch her sleeve the other night. She 
may intend to suffer him to clasp her next time. Peo- 
ple work out their plans by strange ways sometimes. 
And Chetwynd Park is a grand prize to work for.” 
And Miss Monk’s gaze turned toward the house, and 
swept over the park and fields and farms spread before 
her like a picture. 

“ It is indeed a glorious prize,” said the detective 
officer, but his gaze dwelt upon Miss Monk, and not 
upon the scene around him. He was regarding her 
with singular and flattering intentness. She turned 


The Haunted Husband. 


310 


her half-averted face with the swiftness of a serpent, 
and as silently, and she met the full, admiring gaze of 
Mr. Bisset fixed upon her. He did not give her time 
to speak, saying, in his drawling voice : 

“ As you are so interested in the discovery of 
this mock spectre, Miss Monk, I know you will lend me 
all assistance in your power in my search for her. Can 
you give me an accurate description of herself and her 
dress ?** 

“ I must refer you to Lord Chetwynd for information 
on those points, sir. I have never seen the woman,” 
asserted Miss Monk, adhering to her original denial, 
and without suspicion that her brother had declared 
that she had seen the supposed spectre, but had feared 
to own to the fact, lest she should strengthen Lord Chet- 
wynd’s supposed delusion. 

Mr. Bisset’s careless eyes began to concentrate their 
gaze upon the young lady. 

“ Pardon me,” he said ; “but did you not see the sup- 
posed spectre, either on its first or last appearance ?” 

Miss Monk replied in the negative. 

“ But Mr. Monk said you did see her.” 

Sylvia’s face darkened, and a savage glitter brightened 
her eyes. 

“ Did he say that ?” she asked, in a hissing voice. 

“ He did. He told Lord Chetwynd that you had seen 
the spectre on each occasion,” said the detective, coolly. 

The savage look on Miss Monk’s face deepened. She 
crested her black head like a serpent about to dart 
upon its prey. Her breath came quick and hard. Her 
suspicion that Gilbert was playing against her seemed 
to receive additional confirmation. For the moment 
she hated her brother with a deadly hatred, such as 
must have once filled the soul of the first murderer. 

She shivered a little, drew her cloak closer around 


A Vexatious Intruder. 


3i 1 


her, and resumed her slow walk, Mr. Bisset keeping - 
pace beside her. 

They had taken but a turn or two when the old East 
Indian woman Ragee came out of the house and strided 
swiftly toward them, with an Indian scarf thrown 
across her arm. Mr. Bisset watched her approach 
through his eye-glass. 

“ An odd person to find in prosaic England, Miss 
Monk,” he said. “ She looks like a figure out of the 
Arabian Nights.” 

“ She is only my old ayah whom I brought with me 
from India,” said the young lady. “ She nursed me in 
my infancy, and is devoted to me.” 

Ragee came up at this juncture and presented the 
scarf to her mistress, begging her to throw it over her 
head, lest she should take cold. Sylvia complied with 
the request. The Hindoo woman cast a distrustful 
glance at the detective officer, and said, in a low voice, 
in the Hindostanee tongue : 

“ Beware, Missy. The butler has just told me that 
this is the detective. I made an excuse to come and 
warn you. He will try to worm out of you contradic- 
tory sayings. I like him not. He is not what he seems. 
I am afraid of him.” 

Miss Monk laughed, and the Hindoo woman reluc- 
tantly retired. There was a cloud on her dusky brow, 
and an anxious look in her eyes, as she retreated to the 
house. Some instinct warned her that this fair, foppish 
little fellow, with his affectations, his eye-glass, and his 
drawling accent, was more to be feared than any other. 

“ My ayah is a good old soul,” said Miss Monk, in 
English, addressing Mr. Bisset, “ but she seems to 
think me a delicate invalid who must be cosseted con- 
tinually. She speaks little English, but usually 
addresses me in her own tongue. The Hindostanee is 


312 


The Haunted Husband. 


as sweet and mellifluous as honeyed wine. All she had 
to say to me was, that I must guard against this insidi- 
ous sea-breeze, and to remind me of an illness it once 
caused me, but you heard how the words rolled off her 
tongue in music. Ah, the Hindostanee is sweet to my 
ears. Its words were the first my baby tongue lisped, 
and I suppose I shall speak it last of all." 

She sighed sentimentally, and her eyes gazed full 
into the detective’s face. 

“ The Hindostanee tongue is mellifluous, as you say. 
Miss Monk,” he remarked. “ I like it. The Hindo- 
stanee was the first language I ever spoke, for, like you, 
I was born in India, had a native nurse, and my mother 
died in my first year of my life.” 

Miss Monk’s dark face paled. 

“ You — you understand Hindostanee, then ?” she said. 

“Very well indeed,” answered the officer, coolly. 
“ I lived in India until I was ten years old. On reach- 
ing my majority I went back to look after some prop- 
erty left me by my father, and 1 remained there some 
five years studying the language and the people.” 

Miss Monk listened to this revelation in a dead 
silence. She comprehended that the officer had heard 
and understood Ragee’s warning words, and anger and 
fear struggled together in her breast for the mastery. 

“I must say,” she declared, after a pause, “ that your 
conduct in listening to my ayah’s private communica- 
tion to me is not what I consider honorable.” 

“ I might retort that it is not considered good-breed- 
ing to use a foreign language before people who are 
believed not to understand it,” said the detective, 
good-humoredly. “But, Miss Monk, no advantage 
will be taken of your ayah’s warning against me. Her 
words are of little consequence either way. I had come 
to several conclusions before she appeared, and her 


A Vexatious Intruder. 


^ I 'S 

o 1 o 


words did not affect those conclusions. Pardon me for 
having- intruded upon you for so long a time, and 
accept my thanks for the assistance you have rendered 
me. I will now join Lord Chetwynd and his distin- 
guished guest.” 

He raised his hat again with languid grace, walked 
away toward the house, and made his way to the grand 
old library. Lord Chetwynd and Mr. Tempest were 
seated at one of the tables poring over maps of China 
and Tartary. They looked up at Bisset’s entrance. 

“ Come in, Mr. Bisset,” said the marquis, with the 
-courtesy that distinguished him. 

“ I have not now come to interrupt your visit with 
Mr. Tempest, but to ask you to place a saddle-horse at 
my disposal, I desire to absent myself upon this busi- 
ness for some hours. I may not be back until to-mor- 
row morning.” 

“ Take your own time, Mr. Bisset,” responded the 
marquis. “Come and go at pleasure. Here is a night- 
key which you requested. I shall order one of my favor- 
ite horses to be saddled immediately, and it shall be 
yours while you stay here.” 

Lord Chetwynd rang the bell and gave the requisite 
order. Mr. Bisset waited until a servant announced 
that the horse was in waiting, and then took his leave, 
mounted, and rode down the avenue just as Miss Monk 
approached the house. He raised his hat to her respect- 
fully, and rode on. In a few minutes he had passed out 
of the lodge gates, and was on his way to the village of 
Chetwynd-by-sea. 

Mr. Bisset did not stop many minutes at the village. 
He rode into the inn stable-yard, and had a brief inter- 
view with a stable-boy, and then rode out again and 
pushed on to Eastbourne. He had secured the address 
of the flyman who had brought Bernice over to Chet- 


1 he Haunted Husband, 


3H 


wynd village, upon her last visit to the Park. On 
arriving at Eastbourne he sought out this flyman. He 
found the man communicative. In reply to his close 
questions he learned that a young vailed lady had hired 
the fly in question on the previous Thursday night, on 
the arrival of the down express. She had arrived on 
that train. The driver had not seen her face. She was 
slender, a mere slip of a girl, in fact, with a sweet low 
voice, a graceful step, and a gentle refined manner. 
The flyman was ready to swear that she was a lady. 
She hired him to take her to Chetwynd-by-sea, and 
wait for her there two hours, agreeing to return with 
him. He was not a man to take his beast for so long a 
drive at night without getting a double fare. He drove 
the lady to Chetwynd village. At the top of the street 
she had got out, bidding him drive on to the inn and 
wait for her there. That was the last he had seen of 
her. 

“ They say she meant to give you the slip,” said Bisset, 
artfully ; “ that she is a farmer’s daughter living out 
Chetwynd way, and offered you the return fare as a 
bait.” 

J* She’s no farmer’s daughter,” said the flyman, dog- 
gedly. “ I’ll swear to that. Why, she carried herself 
as proud as a queen. You could see she was used to 
servants. And she didn’t offer me the return fare as a 
bait neither. She was a true lady, above lying, I’ll be 
bound.” 

No further information was to be obtained from the 
flyman, but Mr. Bisset did not appear dissatisfied. He 
gave the man another shilling, and said : 

“ What’s the next station that the express stops at ?” 

The flyman informed him, and the officer rode away, 
striking out briskly over the pleasant Sussex road on 
his way to Nunsgate. In less than an hour he rode up 


A Vexations Intruder. 


315 


to the little country station at which Bernice had booked 
herself for London. A train was expected presently, 
and the ticket agent sat in his office at the open window. 

Mr. Bisset left his horse in charge of a lounger, and 
went into the station. 

“ Where to, sir ?” said the agent briskly, as the 
detective’s face darkened the window. 

“ Nowhere in particular,” replied the officer, good- 
naturedly. “ Have a cigar, sir ? I wish to take the 
liberty to make an inquiry which you may be able to 
answer. Yesterday morning a young lady went up to 
London alone by train, and I am uneasy about her. 
To tell you the truth, sir, she went away quite secretly. 
Did she go from this station ? — a young lady dressed in 
gray, with a double gray vail, and a gray hat and 
feather.” 

The ticket agent accepted the cigar, and responded : 

“ There was such a young lady at this station early 
yesterday morning, sir. I did not see her face, it being 
hidden by the vail. She seemed to me as if she had 
walked long, and was tired out. She went up first-class, 
ladies’ coach, to London. Was it a runaway, sir ?” 

“ Something like it,” smiled Mr. Bisset. “ Thanks. 
I am quite satisfied.” 

He returned to his horse, mounted, and set out on his 
return to Chetwynd Park. 

“ My business is concluded sooner than I expected,” 
he mused. “ I shall be back in time to dress for dinner. 
My excursion has been a success. The ‘ spectre ’ went 
up to London. ‘ First-class.’ A lady evidently. 
1 Ladies’ coach.’ Modest, I should say.” 

He returned to Chetwynd Park, arriving in time to 
dress for dinner. Faultlessly equipped in dress coat, 
white cravat, embroidered shirt front and fine jewels, 


The Haunted Husband. 


16 


and wearing his eye-glass he descended to the drawing- 
room. 

After dinner the party returned to the drawing-room. 
Coffee was drank. Miss Monk played a brilliant oper- 
atic composition, and sung also. Mr. Tempest was 
induced to rehearse some of his adventures in foreign 
climes. The evening slipped away pleasantly. A' 
eleven o’clock Miss Monk retired, and soon after Gil- 
bert Monk, yawning over a story of life and adventure, 
and as anxious for an interview with his sister as she 
was anxious for an interview with him, also said good- 
night and retired. 

Mr. Tempest arose to follow their example. 

“ Be good enough to remain a few moments, sir,” 
said the detective, quietly. “ I have something to say 
to Lord Chetwynd, and I believe his lordship has admit- 
ted you, Mr. Tempest, into his counsels.” 

Lord Chetwynd assented. Bisset went to the door, 
walking upon his toes, and listened. He locked the 
door and returned. 

“ I have ascertained, my lord,” he said, in a business 
manner, “ that the ‘spectre’ of Chetwynd Park arrived 
from London, at Eastbourne, on Tuesday night. She 
drove over to Chetwynd- by -sea in a fly, promising to go 
back some two hours later in the same vehicle. Becom- 
ing frightened at her near discovery by your lordship, 
she did not go back in the fly, but walked to Nunsgate, 
where she took, yesterday morning, the up express for 
London. She was alone throughout, having no confed- 
erates. She is young, well-bred, a lady, and was 
dressed .in gray, and wore a double vail of gray grena- 
dine.” 

Lord Chetwynd and Mr. Tempest were alike sur- 
prised at this store of information gained in such *a 
short period 


A Vexatious Intruder. 


3i7 


“ I have reason to believe that the young- lady has a 
den in this house, or confederates,” continued Mr. Bis- 
set. “ For reasons of my own, I incline to the former 
theory. I believe that this ‘ spectre ’ does not carry to 
and fro her white silk grave gown, but leaves it here for 
use as wanted. She certainly changes her dress after 
her arrival here, and before she goes. The young 
woman who came to Eastbourne clad in gray, and went 
away from Nunsgate clad in gray, are the same ; and I 
know to my own satisfaction, that she is the ‘ spectre.’ 
Now she must have a dressing-room somewhere. She 
knows the house, as is proved by her appearance in 
your lordship’s room. She would naturally have her 
dressing-room in this house, and as lonely a room as 
could be obtained. I desire to examine the garrets, my 
lord, and to be accompanied by your lordship and Mr. 
Tempest only. Can we go up to them unseen ?” 

Chetwynd replied in the affirmative, rang for the 
butler and ordered candles, which were brought and 
placed on the hall table. 

“ We will go now, if you choose, Mr. Bisset,” said the 
marquis. “ The house is still. I am impatient to learn 
if your theory is correct in every point, and also to 
examine the white robe, if it be in the house. I shall 
know if it be the one my wife wore, if we really find it. 
Come.” 

He brought in the candles and lighted them. Then 
he led the way up by the private stairs to the garret, Mr, 
Tempest and Mr. Bisset following him. Both his lord- 
ship and the explorer were anxious, trembling, excited, 
but Bisset was calm and unmoved, as one who marches 
on to a certain victory. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY. 

While Lord Chetwynd, Mr. Tempest, and Bisset, the 
detective, were investigating the attics of the great 
house for some vestige of the recent presence of the 
“ spectral’' visitor of Chetwynd Park, Sylvia and Gilbert 
Monk were arriving at a mutual understanding. 

Miss Monk had proceeded to her own rooms on leav- 
ing the drawing-room. She had exchanged her dinner 
dress of gold-colored silk for her scarlet dressing-gown 
of Indian cashmere, embroidered heavily with gold. 
Her glittering topazes still swung in her swarthy ears. 
She was carelessly knotting a gold cord with tassels of 
bullion about her waist, when a knock was heard upon 
the door of her boudoir. 

“ It is Gilbert,” said Miss Monk. “ I know his knock. 
Let him in, Ragee.” 

The old Hindoo woman obeyed. Miss Monk followed 
her attendant into her boudoir just as Gilbert Monk was 
admitted. Ragee locked the door behind him. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Gilbert,” said Miss 
Monk, ironically. “ You have not been very brotherly 
of late. I have fancied, indeed, that you have avoided 
me. Won’t you take a seat ?” 

“ Thanks,” said Monk, lazily, “ I don’t care if I do ; ” 
[318] 


An Important Discovery . 


3i9 


and he settled himself luxuriously in a stuffed lounging- 
chair. “ I noticed that you wanted to see me. Besides, 
I have something particular to say to you. Where is 
Ragee ?” 

He looked around. The East Indian woman had 
curled herself up upon a pile of hassocks in a distant 
corner, and evidently intended to remain in the room 
throughout the interview. She scowled darkly back at 
Monk, with a shadow of menace in her stealthy eyes. 

“ What I have to say to you, Sylvia,” said her brother, 
“ is for your ears alone. You’d better send your woman 
away.” 

“ You can say nothing that I am not willing my woman 
should hear,” she replied, fiercely. “ Ragee is fully in 
my confidence. She will remain.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said Gilbert, sneeringly. 

Miss Monk crested her head forward upon her long 
neck as she cried out, with greater fierceness : 

“ Where is Bernice Chetwynd ?” 

Monk started and changed color. He had expected 
the question, yet when it came he was not prepared for 
it. 

“ Is she not in her coffin ?” he asked, making a feeble 
attempt to recover himself. 

“ Ah, bah ! Do you think to cheat me still ? I know 
you, Gilbert Monk ! I know that Bernice is alive ! 
Where is she, I say ?” 

Monk’s courage rose equal to the occasion. He had 
only a woman to deal with and that woman his own 
sister. He feared not to place himself in her power, 
since she was in his. He replied, in an easy tone : 

“ Lady Chetwynd is now in London.” 

A look of relief passed over Miss Monk’s face. 

“ I had fancied her in this house,” she said. “ In 


32 ° 


The Haunted Husband. 


that case the detective would surely find her. Where 
is she, in London ?” 

Old Ragee pricked up her ears. 

“ I decline to tell you,” said Monk, coolly. “ She is 
safe, and I intend that she shall remain safe.” 

The Hindoo woman clenched her dusky hands, while 
over her withered face flashed a look of hatred that 
boded ill for the absent young marchioness. 

“ I suppose you rescued Bernice from her tomb six- 
teen months ago, Gilbert ?” said Miss Monk, slowly. 

“ Yes,” he assented. 

“ Was she buried in a trance ?” inquired Sylvia, with 
apparent curiosity. 

“ It was a case of suspended animation,” replied Monk, 
“produced by an Indian drug dealt out to Bernice by 
your own teacherous hands, Sylvia, and given to you by 
the hag yonder. You see, I know the whole truth. As 
you may have suspected since, I was hidden in your 
dressing-room all the time while you were concocting 
your diabolical plot against Bernice. I saw the contents 
of the secret draw in your Indian cabinet. I heard 
you plan your hopes, your whole infernal scheme with 
that she-demon yonder. Perhaps you may also have 
guessed that I took the advantage of your momentary 
absence from the room to change the globules you in- 
tended for Bernice. You planned that she should die. 
I arranged that she should die only in seeming.” 

“ It is as I suspected. Where have you kept her ?” 

“ That is my secret.” 

Miss Monk’s eyes gleamed dangerously from beneath 
their heavy drooping lids. 

“ What was your object in rescuing her ?” she asked. 

“ That is also my secret,” smiled Monk. 

“ It shall be mine also, if I tear it from your heart !” 
cried plyvia. “You intend to enrich yourself at my ex- 


321 


An 


Important Discovery. 


pense. You intend to wait till my marriage day, and 
then proclaim toChetwynd that Bernice lives, and claim 
a munificent reward.” 

“ You mistake my designs entirely. I had no such 
intention as this you attribute to me. If I can prevent 
it, Chetwynd shall never know that Bernice lives.” 

“ You expect to keep her alive as a scourge to me, 
then ? You mean to compel me to support you through 
my terror of her ?” 

“ Not exactly. And yet I expect you to pay me a 
handsome annuity when you become Lady Chetwynd.” 

“ I will pay you more when she is dead.” 

“ But I intend that she shall live. The truth is, 
Sylvia,” and Monk’s swart face flushed. “ I love Ber- 
nice. You have seen into what a superb beauty she 
has developed. I shall marry Bernice — she thinks that 
she is free from her marriage bond by reason of her 
pretended death and burial. And I shall swear her to 
secrecy concerning her past life. She is a very Puritan, 
and regards her word as other people do their oaths — 
as sacred. When she is actually mine, and you are 
likely to return to England, I shall take my bride away 
to some foreign country and there spend my days. I 
am not fond of England, and I should like to live in 
Austria. Neither Bernice nor I care for society. Give 
me a good income, an estate near Vienna, horses, ser- 
vants, and a few friends, and I care for nothing more.” 

Miss Monk regarded her brother narrowly and search - 
ingly. She saw that he was speaking the truth, but yet 
she was not satisfied. 

“ You had no such design as this, Gilbert,” she said, 

“ sixteen months ago. You did not rescue her from the 
tomb because you loved her. All this love and thought 
of life with her in a foreign land is of later date. Why, 
then, did you rescue her from death ? Why did you 


322 


The Haunted Husband. 


seclude her and educate her? You must tell me 
why.” 

“ I have no objections to so doing,” said Monk, easily. 
“ The truth will do no harm. I have discovered, 
through my connection with Scotsby and Newman, the 
.secret history of Lady Chetwynd. You remember that 
there was a mystery about her birth. She was aban- 
doned by her father, a wealthy gentleman, who took 
her to St. Kilda in his yacht, and left her on that distant 
island in the care of Minister Gwellan and his wife, 
who brought up the waif as their own child. The 
father never came for her. Now I happened to dis- 
cover who she is, and the knowledge inspired me to act 
as I have done.” 

Miss Monk’s brows were knitted, her swarthy face 
colorless and gray, her manner troubled and annoyed. 

“ You know who Bernice is !” she ejaculated. “You 
have known all this while ? I never gave you credit 
for such depth, Gilbert. Who is Bernice ?” 

“ That I cannot tell you. I reserve a few of my 
secrets for my own especial profit.” 

“ Is she an heiress !” asked Miss Monk, frowning. 

“It is highly probable. I am not one to bestir 
myself for a pauper. By-the-by, how about your mar- 
riage settlements.” 

“ They are being drawn up by the family solicitor. 
Lord JChetwynd treats me most magnificently. My 
yearly income will be something grand, but then Chet- 
wynd can afford it. He’s rich to embarrassment, you 
know.” 

“ Yes, I know,” said Monk, arising from his chair 
and holding out his hand to her in token of amity. 

“You can depend on me,” he said. “We will both 
feather our nests handsomely. And now, Sylvia, I 
must go. I fancy I hear steps on the floor above. 


An Important Discovery . 


323 


That confounded detective may be prowling about. I 
mean to keep my eye on him henceforth. If he’s spy- 
ing, I may as well get to my own room.” 

Again he approached the door. Old Ragee looked at 
her mistress significantly. Miss Monk nodded. The 
Hindoo hastened to open the door. Without a look at 
her, Gilbert Monk strode out into the hall, and the 
door closed behind him. 

Ragee shot home the bolt in the lock, listened to his 
departing steps, and faced her mistress. 

“ What is to be done ?” questioned the Hindoo, in a 
whisper. “ Is it an alliance, Missy ?” 

“ No — a war to the death !” said Miss Monk, in her 
fierce sibilant voice. “ I am not safe while Bernice 
lives. She will never consent to marry Gilbert. She 
adores Roy Chetwynd. She has plans of her own. She 
plays the ghost here to frighten me. She means to 
reveal herself in time to Chetwynd. She is duping Gil- 
bert. She means to be revenged on me. I tell you I’m 
standing upon a sleeping volcano. I am not safe. The 
girl must die !” 

“ Aye, she must die !” 

“ When the detective leaves, Gilbert will go to Lon- 
don to see Bernice. You must follow him. You must 
track him to her. Find her, and let her not escape you 
the third time,” and Miss Monk’s eyes flamed with her 
murderous meaning. “ Be as secret as death, as cruel 
as the grave. Remember, it is my safety you are fight- 
ing for.” 

The Hindoo nodded assent with an evil smile. 

And now we will see how Bernice was faring. 
Her meeting with Flack seemed opportune. She 
resolved to spend the night with Mrs, Crowl, and to 
resume her search on the following day for something 
to do, and somewhere to stay. 


3 2 4 


The Haunted Husband . 


Mrs. Crowl was in the act of sitting- down to her sup- 
per, when Flack arrived with Bernice. She sprang up 
with a gurgling cry of joy. 

“ Sit down here,” she said, pushing forward a chair. 
“ You look tired, Miss Gwyn.” 

Then hastily removing Bernice’s hat, she brought a 
cup of hot, strong tea. The girl took it eagerly and 
sipped it, feeling a pleasant warmth begin to diffuse 
itself throughout her system. Mrs. Crowd brought her 
also buttered toast, and little was said until young Lady 
Chetwynd had eaten, and a dash of color had come to 
her cheeks and the old brave light to her brown eyes. 

“ There, you look better now,” said Mrs. Crowl, set- 
ting down the empty cup. “ Won’t you have a bit of 
Welsh rabbit or a chop ?” 

“ Thank you, no,” replied Bernice. “ I want nothing 
more.” 

She put out her hands toward the blaze of the fire. 
Mrs. Crowl saw how thin the hands were, and how thin 
also the pale young face. She saw, too, under the girl’s 
pallor and weakness, the strength of an awakened spirit, 
of a grand and noble courage, of a brave and spirited 
nature. Bernice had suffered greatly since Mrs. Crowl 
had last seen her, but this suffering had been like the 
fire which tries the gold, and she was to-night, despite 
her weakness and poverty and friendlessness, a brave, 
strong-souled, clear-headed woman. 

Flack retired to his garret. Mrs. Crowl cleared away 
the remains of supper, and a bed was improvised upon 
the dilapidated sofa for her use. The bed in the adjoin- 
ing room was re-made, and Bernice retired to the room 
with a candle. Mrs. Crowl had carefully refrained from 
asking questions of the young lady, exhibiting a delicacy 
for which Bernice was grateful. 

Bernice did not lie awake to meditate upon her adven- 


An Important Discovery. 


325 


tures or prospects. She dropped asleep almost immedi- 
ately And then Mrs. Crowl crept into her room and 
examined her pocket-book, discovering the solitary 
three-pence that comprised Bernice’s shield against star- 
vation. 

“ She has no money to escape on again,” muttered the 
woman. “ It will be a long time before her funds are 
increased.” 

She took up the light and bent over the sleeper a 
moment, and then withdrew. 

Mrs. Crowl w^as astir early in the morning. Bernice 
attempted to rise, but found herself too weak and tired 
and footsore. The woman brought her tea and toast, 
and afterward beef tea, and about noon young Lady 
Chetwynd appeared in the outer room, with her hair 
floating over her shoulders and attired in her travelling 
dress. 

Mrs. Crowl brought a tempting luncheon to her 
guest, and Bernice partook of it. When she had fin- 
ished she said, gratefully : 

“ I thank you for all your kindness to me, Mrs. Crowl, 
and perhaps some day I may repay it. I do not like to 
encroach upon your hospitality another night, and yet 
I am hardly able to go out to-day in search of a lodging 
or situation as governess.” 

Mrs. Crowl was very attentive to her young guest 
during the remainder of the day and evening. Lady 
Chetwynd retired early, and slept well. The next 
morning she arose early, herself once more. 

She came out to breakfast, and was waited upon with 
due respect by Mrs. Crowl. After the meal Bernice 
went into the bed-room, packed her travelling-bag, and 
put on her hat. She came out ready for departure. 

“ You have been very kind to me, Mrs. Crowl,” she 
said, extending her hand. “ I am strong enough to 


The Haunted Husband. 


326 


resume my search for work. I cannot remain here 
longer I thank you again and again, and some day I 
hope to reward you.” 

She held out her hand, and Mrs. Crowl grasped it 
with a lingering pressure. Bernice moved toward the 
door. Mrs. Crowl, who had been standing before it, 
moved aside with an odd smile. Bernice essayed to 
open the door. It was locked. 

“ What does this mean ?” she demanded, her eyes 
flashing. 

“ It means, Miss,” retorted the woman, “ that you are 
a prisoner.” 

Bernice stood amazed, indignant. 

“ Open this door !” she commanded, her sweet voice 
ringing. “ Open it, or I will alarm the house !” 

“Do — and see what you’ll get by it. The lodgers, 
except us, are all men, away for the day. The land- 
lady is my friend and relative, and will stand by me. 
Scream — yell — shout. You’ll not alarm so much as a 
fly. You are a prisoner, Miss, and you may as well 
understand the fact first as last.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

BISSET STARTLES LORD CHETWYND. 

Lord Chetwynd, Mr. Tempest, and Bisset, the detec- 
tive officer, while pursuing their object of searching the 
unused attics of the house, had gone from room to 
room, with their candles held high above their heads, 
examining every nook and corner, and finding only bare 
walls and dusty floors. The young marquis had not 


Bisset Startles Lord Chetwynd. 327 


been sufficiently sanguine to hope to find under his own 
roof some vestige of the recent visit of the Chetwynd 
“ spectre.” Mr. Tempest betrayed a keen anxiety, but he 
also had no hope of receiving enlightenment in regard 
to the mysterious visitor whose declared resemblance 
to Bernice — his unowned daughter — thrilled him with a 
desire to see her. Bisset, alone of the three, was cool and 
thoroughly self-possessed. He led the search, and his 
keen glances penetrated every niche and nook, and he 
stopped to examine footprints in the dust covering the 
floors with a deliberation and patience that annoyed his 
companions. 

“ You’ll make nothing of these footprints,” said Lord 
! Chetwynd impatiently, as Bisset took out a foot-rule 
I from his pocket and proceeded to measure one track in 
' its length and breadth, and to note the measurements 
in his private note-book. “ Some servant may have 
rambled through these rooms. That is the print of a 
man’s foot, is it not ?” 

“ Yes, my lord,” said Bisset, briefly. “ Such small 
items as this sometimes don’t come amiss in my profes- 
sion. And these measurements may be of service to me 
hereafter. Let me go in advance, that I may measure 
any other tracks before our own confuse them.” 

He went on in advance. The first footprint he had 
measured was that of Gilbert Monk. He presently 
found another distinctly defined— the footprint of the 
Hindoo woman, Ragee. 

There was no heel mark to this print. The shoe had 
been flat and wide, and Bisset knew at a glance, with his 
i shrewd, trained faculties, who had worn it. 

“ I begin to see light,” he thought. “ Everything 
j goes to confirm my theory, preposterous as that theory 
i seems. Monk is the author of the man’s footprint ; the 
Hindoo woman is the author of this one. I have caught 


The Haunted Husband. 


328 

K? 


glimpses of a third print, but so confused with these 
two that it cannot readily be distinguished. If I could, 
but come upon a clear impression of the third foot.” 

The wish was soon gratified. He found distinctly set 
in the heavy layer of dust the impression of a girl’s 
slender, delicate, highly-arched foot ; and now his face 
flushed, and a tinge of eagerness came to his manner, 
as he said : 

“ We will go on, if you please.” 

They continued their investigations. And at last, in 
the very last room thej r visited, they came upon the lad- 
der which Bernice had left leaning against the trap-door 
of the low upper garret which she had made her haunt. 

Bisset’s eyes gleamed as he beheld the ladder. He 
sprang forward and climbed up the rounds like a cat, 
and was in the upper garret. 

Something in his manner infected Chetwynd and 
Tempest with like energy. They came after him up 
the ladder into the upper room. 

It was only a low garret, barely six feet high in its 
highest part, without windows, a mere den, lighted and 
ventilated through seams and crevices in the slated 
roof. 

And yet it was seen at the first glance to have been 
the haunt of a human being. 

There was a mattress in a corner, a pillow, and blan- 
kets. A bit of broken mirror was affixed to a rough- 
hewn post. There were a few toilet appurtenances that 
had evidently been brought up from a guest-chamber 
below. 

“ Some one has been here,” said Tempest, wonder- 
ingly. “And by the perfect neatness that reigns here, 
I should judge the inmate had been a lady.” 

“ She stayed here for weeks at a time,” said Bisset 
quietly. “ See here.” 


Bisset Startles Lord Chetwynd \ 


He pointed out in a corner remnants of food, bones of 
fowls, a box of biscuits, and other edibles. The gentle- 
men examined them curiously. 

“ Do you think, Mr. Bisset, that the person who has 
lived in this room is the same who has performed the 
part of Lady Chetwynd’s spectre ?” inquired Mr. Tem- 
pest, with anxious interest. 

Bisset replied in the affirmative. 

“ She must be demented,” said the young marquis, 
thoughtfully. 

Bisset did not reply. He was flashing his light to and 
fro high above his head, and darting his inquisitive 
glances hither and thither. The gleam of something 
white — a mere roll or bundle — behind a beam overhead 
caught his eyes. He seized it and pulled it down. It 
unrolled, and its silken length fell upon the floor. 

It was the burial robe of Lady Chetwynd. 

The three gentlemen stared at it for a full minute in 
silence. 

“ That is the robe my wife was buried in !” said Lord 
Chetwynd, in a strange voice. “ I should know it any- 
where. And it is the dress worn by the spectre. Look 
at the sleeve !” 

Bisset lifted into plainer view the small elbow sleeve 
with its frill of rare point lace. Part of the lace had 
been forcibly torn out. The officer produced the frag- 
ment of lace which Lord Chetwynd had given him, and 
fitted it to the original frill. The fact was apparent at 
a glance. The fragment had been torn from that very 
frill. 

“ Was there no other mark upon her ladyship’s gown, 
besides the pattern of the lace, by which your lordship 
might identify it ?” the officer asked. 

“ No — yes. Upon the evening after our dinner 
party, as Lady Chetwynd and I stood in her boudoir,” 


330 


The Haunted Husband. 


replied the marquis, “ the ornaments upon my watch 
chain became entangled in the lace on the inner side of 
her sleeve. Our attempts to detach the ornaments 
resulted in a rent in the lace, an odd little zig-zag rent, 
which Fifine, Lady Chetwynd’s French maid, repaired 
the next day. I have never thought of the incident 
since, until now your question recalls it.” 

“ We can soon prove then, if this be her ladyship’s 
gown,” said Bisset. “ Look 1” 

He displayed the inner side of both sleeves. Lord 
Chetwynd examined both, and uttered a strange cry, 
starting back. 

He had found the little rent he had described, but so 
carefully darned as to be imperceptible save to the 
closest scrutiny. 

Blisset and Mr. Tempest examined it narrowly. 

“ This is incredible,” said the explorer, in sudden 
agitation. “ Are we to understand that this is actually 
and truly Lady Chetwynd’s burial gown ?” 

“ It is proved by his lordship to have been Lady • 
Chetwynd’s robe, worn on her first evening in this 
house,” said Bisset. “But it is not yet proven to have 
been the gown in which she was buried.” 

“ But it is the same,” declared the marquis — “ the 
very same. She was buried in this gown — I’ll swear to 
it. She looked in her coffin like a bride. She had no 
other white silk gown cut square in the neck, and with 
sleeves like those. Ask Miss Monk. She knows and 
will tell you.” 

“ Let us not drag Miss Monk into this business of 
investigating, my lord,” said Bisset. “ I prefer to keep 
Miss Monk in ignorance of our movements. Is there no 
other who can identify the gown ?” 

“ Lady Chetwynd’s French maid Fifine. She lives in 
London. I have her address somewhere.” 


Bisset Startles Lord Chetwynd. 


33i 


“ Very well. We will apply in due time to Mademoi- 
selle Fifine,” declared Bisset. “ But to go on with our 
work here. Your lordship has proved conclusively that 
this gown belonged to Lady Chetwynd. Your lordship 
also believes this gown to have been her ladyship’s burial 
robe. You will be shocked, my lord, at my next pro- 
posal, but a moment’s reflection will assure you of its 
propriety. I desire, in your lordship’s presence and the 
presence of your distinguished guest, Mr. Tempest, to 
open Lady Chetwynd’s coffin.” 

Lord Chetwynd started. The idea seemed sacrile- 
gious. His stern, agitated face expressed his refusal. 

The explorer looked scarcely less agitated and amazed. 

“ This is a most singular proposal, Mr. Bisset,” said 
Tempest endeavoring to recover himself. “ Why should 
you seek to disturb the remains of the dead ? I cannot 
wonder that Lord Chetwynd refuses to grant your 
request. I think I never heard so strange a proposal in 
my life.” 

“ But these are strange circumstances in which we 
find ourselves, sir,” said Bisset, respectfully. “ There 
is a fair share of probability that this gown was worn by 
Lady Chetwynd in her coffin. How, then, did it come 
out ? I dare not as yet declare to you all my suspicions. 
What shall I say to you, and not betray too much ? 
Have you never heard of people being buried in trances ? 
Have you never heard of cases of suspended animation ? 
Why should not Lady Chetwynd have been the victim 
of catalepsy ? Suppose she were buried in a trance ?” 

“ It is not possible,” cried Tempest, in an agony. 
“ How can it be ? She was not buried for six days.” 

“ There are well-authenticated instances where anima- 
tion was suspended for a week, or even so long as ten 
days,” declared Bisset calmly. 

“ But she was dead, I tell you,” said Lord Chetwynd 


The Haunted Husband . 


brokenly. “ Ah ! there was no mistake in that fact. 
She died of fever contracted in the cottage of a poor 
tenant. She knew that she was dying. She bade me 
good-bye. And when she had died her eyes became 
sunken, and the look that the dead have mantled her face. 
There was a strange blueness about the poor, pinched 
face — ” 

He broke down sobbing. 

Bisset started eagerly. 

“ A blueness, my lord ?” he ejaculated. “ For Heav- 
en’s sake go on. Did this blueness settle most heavily 
under the eyes and about the mouth ?” 

“ Yes, yes. It changed her, giving her a ghastliness 
that haunts me still.” 

Bisset communed with himself for some moments. 
Evidently Chetwynd’s words had produced a vivid 
impression upon him. At last he spoke : 

“ My lord, your words but confirm my desire to look 
within Lady Chetwynd’s coffin. There is a state of trance 
characterized by the peculiar blueness of the visage you 
have described. I cannot tell you more yet, but before 
God I swear I will lay bare before you, before I shall 
have relinquished your service, a story that will thrill 
you with horror. I believe, so help me God, that Lady 
Chetwynd was in a trance when she was buried.” 

Chetwynd reeled, his bronzed face becoming white. 

“ Ah, what !” he gasped. “ You believe that she — my 
wife— my little Bernice — died there in her coffin, while 
I was weeping and mourning for her here ?” 

“ No, no. You do not comprehend me entirely. She 
was buried alive — ” 

Tempest echoed the words with an anguished groan. 

Chetwynd put up his hands as to ward off a blow. He 
could not speak. 

“ I repeat,” said Bisset, and the flickering candle-light 


Bis set Startles Lord Chetwynd. 


n ^ 

JOJ 


fell full upon his earnest face, “ that Lady Chetwynd, 
in my opinion, was buried alive. I believe that, for pur- 
poses of greed, or other purposes, she was rescued from 
her tomb — ” 

“ Rescued !” cried Chetwynd, in a quick, hollow whis- 
per. 

“ Whether she arose from her coffin in her right mind 
or not, I cannot yet determine,” pursued Bisset. “ But 
that she arose from her coffin I am fully persuaded. I 
believe that she lives — ” 

Chetwynd retreated to the wall. He seemed about to 
faint, but his blue eyes burned with a wild and awful 
fire, and the ghastliness of his face deepened. 

“ Shall I go on ?” asked Bisset, with an anxious glance 
at the marquis. “ I believe that Lady Chetwynd lives. 
I believe that it was your own wife you have seen so 
repeatedly, my lord. I believe that Lady Chetwynd’s 
spectre is Lady Chetwynd’s living self !” 

The words of Bisset as he thus declared his belief in 
the continued existence of Lady Chetwynd, burned like 
coals into the hearts of his two listeners. Both Chetwynd 
and Tempest stood like statues, motionless, dumb, 
frozen in an awful horror. The words of the officer 
seemed wild and heartless. Lord Chetwynd rallied, 
and said : 

“ After what has been said here to-night — preposter- 
ous as it seems — I shall never know a minute’s peace, 
day or night, until I have examined my poor wife’s cof- 
fin. I know not what to think. Of course my wife is 
dead in truth, but I cannot rest until I know that her 
bones lie in the coffin in yonder parish vault. I must 
know this very night — within the hour. Mr. Bisset will, 
I know, accompany me. Mr. Tempest, will you go, 
also ?” 

The explorer bowed assent. Indeed, he longed with 


334 


The Haunted Husband \ 


a feverish anxiety to prove whether Bernice were dead 
or no. 

“ We will go now," said Bisset, promptly. “ Our 
researches here are ended. Come !" 

He gathered the silken robe, all stained and frayed 
and yellowed and wrinkled as it was, across his arm, 
and led the way from the attics to the lower floor. 
Upon the third floor they halted to listen. 

“ We must be on our guard," said Bisset, in a whis- 
per. “ I do not wish Mr. or Miss Monk to become 
aware of our proceedings. It is well to be as secret as 
possible in a case like this." 

The three men moved cautiously toward the stair. 

As they halted a moment near the landing, listening, 
Gilbert Monk’s head appeared above the level of the 
floor. Monk was struck, at the first glance, by the 
countenances Of the three men whom he thus met face 
to face, and he stood aghast at sight of the burden one 
of the three men bore. That burden was the silk gown 
in which Bernice had so successfully played the part of 
spectre, and it was still flung across the arm of the 
detective officer. 

Monk stared speechless. He comprehended the 
scene at a glance. He had not calculated that the robe 
of Bernice would be found, yet in his amazement his 
desperate courage did not forsake him. 

“ Ha, what have you there ?" he asked, finding his 
voice under the keen scrutiny of Mr. Bisset. “ The 
spectre’s gown, I’ll risk a guinea. Have you found the 
spectre herself in propria persona ?” 

“ No, Gilbert," said Lord Chetwynd ; “ but we have 
found evidence that the mysterious girl, whoever she 
may be, has inhabited an attic in this house for days 
and weeks." 

“ Indeed," said Monk, coolly. “ I shouldn’t have slept 


Bisset Startles Lord Chetwynd. 


335 


so sound of nights if I had suspected th#t. For, to tell 
the truth, I fancy the creature is demented.” 

“ We have made other discoveries, also, Mr. Monk,” 
said Bisset, eying Monk sharply. “ We found foot- 
prints in the dust of the attic floors. I measured them, 
and have come to some valuable conclusions.” 

“ Such as—” 

“ I keep my conclusions to enhance the glory of my 
final announcement,” declared Bisset, with exasper- 
ating indifference. “ We shall see what we shall see. 
But permit us to pass, Mr. Monk.” 

Monk bowed courteously, and stood aside until the 
three gentlemen had reached the floor next lower. He 
then followed them. 

Arrived upon the chamber floor, Lord Chetwynd took 
the silken robe from Bisset and carried it into the 
dressing-room Lady Chetwynd had occupied, and locked 
it in an armoire. He returned to the hall, where Tem- 
pest and Bisset awaited him, and Monk with them. 

His lordship glanced from Bisset to Monk, who saw 
that some further movement was on foot, and was 
determined to engage in it. 

“ I presume your investigations are not yet ended,” 
said Monk, in his boyish way. “ Is anything more in 
contemplation ? If so, let me help also. Four are bet- 
ter than three. It is not like Chetwynd to count me 
out, when I would do anything to serve him.” 

Chetwynd was touched by the implied reproach. 
Frank and honest himself, he believed Monk the same. 
He trusted him, and entertained a species of affection 
for him. 

“ It is true, Gilbert, that we have another movement 
on foot,” he said. “ Mr. Bisset thinks that we ought to 
investigate my poor wife’s coffin. We are going to do 
now.” 


336 


7'he Haunted Husband. 


Monk did not change color. He had scarcely 
expected that an investigation would actually be made 
of Lady Chetwynd’s burial casket, but he was pre- 
pared for that investigation. Bisset marked that not a 
muscle quivered in that boyish, bearded face, that the 
small black eyes did not blench, and that the swart 
face did not change in its expression of curiosity and 
surprise. 

“ The fellow is a devil,” thought Bisset. “ But I have 
dealt with devils before, and I’ll conquer this one — or 
die !” 

His sentiments, however, were not betrayed in his 
manner. He waited for Monk’s answer. 

“ Let me go with you,” said Gilbert Monk, with an 
earnestness in which seemed no shadow of terror or 
anxiety. “By Jove ! But it’s odd, you know. Open- 
ing a coffin ! I suppose Chetwynd has a right to do it, 
and I’d like to be present at the opening. I loved Ber- 
nice as if she were my sister, and if there’s anything 
wrong, I want a hand in helping clear it up.” 

“ Come, then, Gilbert ?” cried Chetwynd. “ We must 
go down to the library for the keys. We will disturb 
Sylvia if we linger here.” 

Monk looked down at his clothes. 

“ We are all in dress suits,” he said “ We must put 
on warmer garments before we venture out. The air 
is chilly.” 

The suggestion, so eminently practical, had not 
occurred even to Bisset. The gentlemen acted upon it, 
each going to his own room. 

Some ten minutes later, dressed in morning costume, 
the four met in the library. 

Chetwynd opened the safe, and produced the key of 
the Chetwynd family vault, also the key of the door at 
the head of the stairway leading down into the crypt. 


Bis set Startles Lord Chetwynd. 337 


“ We must get the key of the church of the rector,” 
said the marquis. “ I have here under my cloak a lan- 
tern and a few tools which we shall require. Are you 
ready ?” 

Assent was given, and Chetwynd led the way. They 
walked swiftly and in silence to Chetwynd parish 
church. The gate was unlocked, and Monk led the 
way in among the graves. 

“ Wait for me in the porch,” said Chetwynd. “ I am 
going to arouse the rector and obtain the key of the 
church.” 

He soon returned, and Mr. Locke, the rector, accom- 
panied him. 

The church was opened, and the five gentlemen gave 
themselves admittance and proceeded down to the 
Chetwynd burial vault. 

The lantern was suspended from a nail in a beam 
overhead. 

Then Bisset went to work. He took possession of 
the tools Lord Chetwynd had brought, but first of all 
he surveyed the coffin on every side, to ascertain if it 
had at any period since Lady Chetwynd’s burial been 
tampered with. 

To all appearance, it had not been touched. 

It stood upon trestles, and was covered with black 
crape, upon which the silver plate and handles, all tar- 
nished now, gleamed with subdued lustre. Bisset read 
the inscription on the plate. 

Then he set to work to unfasten the screws. Tem- 
pest, seizing a screw-driver, set to work upon the oppo- 
site side of the casket. Lord Chetwynd stood apart, his 
arms folded, his head sunk low on his breast. Monk 
and the clergyman conversed in whispers. 

The lid of the coffin was unscrewed and removed. 


338 


The Haunted Husband . 


And now all but Chetwynd gathered around to look 
into the casket, 

Bisset uttered a low exclamation, unintelligible to all 
save Monk, who put up his hand to his mouth to hide a 
smile of triumph. 

The coffin was not empty. Within it lay the skeleton 
of a woman. The grinning skull was bare of flesh ; 
the long black hair had grown like some wild weed and 
filled the upper half of the casket ; and the fleshless 
hands and delicate fingers, mere bones now, still hung 
together as if strung on wire. 

But strangest of all, the fleshless skeleton was mostly 
covered by a long gown of white silk trimmed with 
point lace, and cut square in the neck, with elbow 
sleeves edged with frills of lace. The silk was stained 
and yellow, as if it had lain there all these months, but 
was still in a good state of preservation. 

Monk, not satisfied with the precautions he had before 
taken, had caused a dress to be made ; a counterpart of 
Bernice’s burial robe, had stained it purposely to make 
it look old and decaying, and had recently placed it here 
in anticipation of this moment. 

And now his heart throbbed with sinister joy at his 
success. 

Lord Chetwynd came forward and also looked into 
the coffin. The others drew back respectfully. There 
were no tears in his eyes, but his face was convulsed 
with his awful anguish. His old wound was ploughed 
up afresh, and the pain was almost more than he could 
be ir. 

He looked a long time in silence. Then he said, 
bro enly : 

“ The body of my wife lies here. This is her dress. 
See, the lace is the same — no, not the same, yet very 
like it. We have deceived ourselves.” 


The Investigation Continues . 


339 


He stepped back with arms still folded, his head sink- 
ing again to his breast. 

In silence the lid was restored to the coffin and screwed 
in its place. The old clergyman approached Chetwynd 
and took his hand, but he had nothing to say in such a 
moment and to a despair like this. 

And in silence the five gentlemen returned to the 
church porch. Mr. Locke took his key and went home. 
The others returned to Chetwynd Park. 

“ So far, Monk is ahead,” thought the baffled detective, 
as he retired to his bed. “ He’s crafty as the devil. It’s 
likely to be a tough fight between us — a contest of wits ; 
but I’m not worsted yet, and so surely as God lives I’ll 
come out ahead in the end. And the end is near !” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE INVESTIGATION CONTINUES. 

Mr. Bisset on opening Lady Chetwynd’s coffin, had 
expected to find it empty. He had looked for a triumph- 
ant vindication of his theories, but had experienced only 
an absolute defeat. He had arrayed himself in a secret 
conflict with Gilbert Monk, and Gilbert Monk had come 
off victor. 

Mr. Bisset was too well convinced that he was right, 
too astute, too shrewd, too skilled in tracking out mys- 
teries, to recede from the opinion he had already 
formed. 

He was persuaded that the bones he had seen in the 
coffin were not the bones of young Lady Chetwynd, 
but that they had been recently placed there by Monk. 
He was convinced that the silken gown he had seen in 


340 


The Haunted Hit stand. 


the coffin was not the gown that had been worn by the 
youthful marchioness, but one that Monk had caused to 
be made in imitation of it. 

But how to prove this theory ? How to unvail the 
truth ? How to entrap to his own destruction a man 
whose cunning and sense of caution were something 
marvellous ? 

He was up at daybreak, and soon after made his way 
out to the stable-yard. The stable-men were astir, and 
an air of bustle pervaded the place. Bisset ordered his 
horse, mounted, and rode away at a canter upon the 
road to Nunsgate. Arrived at that station, he found an 
early lounger to take charge of his horse, and sauntered 
into the telegraph office. The hour was now about 
seven ; the operator was just entering his office. Bis- 
set followed him. 

“ I want to telegraph to London, Scotsby and New- 
man, Chancery Lane,” he said, languidly. “ All ready ? 
Send this message, then : ‘ Did you telegraph to Monk 
yesterday ?’ That’s all. Oh, add the address to which 
the answer is to be sent. ‘ Address Bisset, Chetwynd 
Park, Eastbourne, Sussex.’ How much ?” 

He paid for the telegram and sauntered out again. 
He mounted his thoroughbred and rode swiftly back to 
the Park, arriving in time to make his toilet for break- 
fast. 

After breakfast Miss Monk retired to her boudoir and 
the contemplation of a parcel of samples and patterns 
which had arrived by post. The gentlemen repaired to 
the library. In a little while Monk went up to his sis- 
ter’s room. As soon as he had disappeared Mr. Bisset 
remarked to Chetwynd : 

“ My lord, I have discovered more than you think, and 
I have good grounds for suspicions which I expect soon 
to verify. But I desire that even Mr. Monk should be 


The Investigation Continues. 


34i 


made to think that I have retired from the investigation. 
I beg you to be patient still. I hope in good time to 
turn your mourning into joy.” 

With this communication, he retired from the library 
and strolled about the grounds. 

After an hour on the terrace, he returned to the 
house by the garden entrance, and began to ascend the 
private stair to his room. 

At the upper landing he encountered the Hindoo 
woman Ragee, with a tray in her hands. He halted in 
her path, surveying her withered brown face and tur- 
baned head with a lazy smile. 

“ Ah ! it’s you, is it ?” he said, speaking in the Hin- 
dostanee tongue. “ I’ve been wishing to see you. I 
have only to wish, you know, and straightway that I 
wish for happens. You are a devotee of the goddess 
Kali, the wife of Siva, are you not ?” 

He made strange signals with his hands. The woman 
stared and trembled. 

“ You see, I know you,” continued Bisset. “ You 
have been connected with the great band of Thugs. 
You have been a Sotha, or entrapper. You have no 
regard for human life, and would as soon destroy a 
human being as a fly.” 

Ragee sat down her tray and retreated a few paces. 

“You think you are wise and subtle,” said the officer, 
removing his eye-glass, and transfixing the woman by 
the power of his keen, penetrating gaze, “but I am 
wiser and more subtle. I can read your soul and all 
your past life. I know that your mistress is your nurs- 
ling, and that you regard her happiness and prosperity 
as above everything else in the world. She is poor, 
dependent, nobody. She loves Lord Chetwynd, and a 
marriage with him will make her rich, independent, 
and a lady of great consequence. Your motives are 


342 


The Haunted Husband. 


plain to me. You attempted to poison Lady Chetwynd. 
By some accident you gave her the wrong drug. You 
gave her a potion of the drug lanna , and her death was 
but death in seeming." 

The old woman uttered a strange, choked cry of 
amazement and rage. Her small eyes stared at Bisset 
in a deadly terror. Full of superstition, she ascribed to 
him a supernatural knowledge. 

“ You do well to tremble,” said Bisset, his low, smooth 
voice cutting the air like a polished sword. “ I am of 
all men for you the most terrible. Murderess ! Who 
was it rescued Lady Chetwynd from her coffin ?” 

The woman’s lips moved, but her voice was dumb. 
She stood as if frozen with terror, her brown, withered 
face turning gray and livid, her eyes staring at Bisset 
in horror. 

“ Speak !” commanded Bisset, and now his eyes blazed. 

Was it Gilbert Monk who rescued Lady Chetwynd?” 

Still the old woman did not speak, but the look on 
her face sufficiently answered the detective. The start, 
the increased pallor, the cringing terror, the fearful 
shrinking within herself, the sudden flash of intelligence 
over all her face, told him plainer than words would 
have done that Lady Chetwynd had indeed been res- 
cued from her coffin, and by Gilbert Monk. 

The hush of anticipated triumph swelled Bisset’s 
heart and kindled on his cheeks. 

“ Did you know at the time that Monk had ~escued 
my lady ?” questioned the officer. 

Ragee quailed under his gaze. 

“ Ah ! Hum ! Did you know before Lord Chet- 
wynd’s return from abroad that my lady had been res- 
cued ?” 

Still no audible answer, but the same negative ex- 
pression in the gray, wrinkled face. 


The Investigation Continues. 343 


“ Where is Lady Chetwynd now ?” 

The blank look in the Hindoo’s face assured him that 
she did not know. 

“ Does Gilbert Monk know?” 

There was a little lightening in the dull, vacant eyes 
of the old East Indian, which Bisset interpreted as an 
affirmative answer. But still the old woman did not 
speak, and one less skilled in reading countenances 
would have gained nothing from a contemplation of 
her features. She had answered him nothing in words 
or gesture, and she believed her knowledge safely 
hidden in the depths of her black soul. 

“ You have told me all I want to know, old woman,” 
said Bisset, “ and now you may pass on.” 

He moved away from her a few paces. She spat at 
him in her rage, seized her tray, and plunged down the 
stair. 

Bisset looked after her with a quiet smile, and went 
to his room whistling. 

He did not emerge again until luncheon time, and 
then he went down to the breakfast-room as quiet and 
self-possessed as any guest of the house. One would 
not dream how hard he was at work at the great prob- 
lem absorbing all his faculties. 

At luncheon he was rather silent. Mr. Tempest 
exerted himself, however, to keep the ball of conversa- 
tion rolling, and Chetwynd, in his habitual courtesy, set 
aside his own griefs to entertain his guests. 

Luncheon was nearly over when, as on the previous 
day, the butler entered with an envelope on a salver. 
He passed Monk by and approached the detective. 

“ A telegram for Mr. Bisset,” he explained. “ The 
messenger is waiting.” 

Bisset took the missive, tore it open, and read its con- 
tents. They were as follows : 


344 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ Did not send telegram to Monk yesterday, nor at 
any other time. Scotsby & Newman.” 

Bisset smiled tranquilly as he crumpled the paper in 
his hand, and said : 

“No answer. Here is a crown for the messenger, 
and something to pay for baiting his horse and himself 
at the Chetwynd inn.” 

He dropped a half-sovereign on the salver, and the 
butler withdrew. The incident struck Monk as a trav- 
esty upon the similar incident of the previous day. 
Therefore he said, half-sneeringly, repeating as well as 
he remembered it, the question which Bisset had put to 
him : 

“ Good news, Mr. Bisset ?” 

“ Yes, sir, particularly good,” said Mr. Bisset, pleas- 
antly. “ And yet my telegram is of no consequence— 
merely a business communication from Scotsby and 
Newman.” 

Monk changed color and glanced around him ner- 
vously. Lord Chetwynd and Mr. Tempest were 
engaged in conversation. Only Miss Monk heard Bis- 
set’s reply and comprehended its purport. 

“ Would you like to see my telegram, Mr Monk ?” 
said Bisset, in his good-humored way. “ You are wel- 
come to do so.” 

He smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper and 
passed it to Monk. The latter took it, read it, and 
passed it back with shaking hands and without a word. 
Bisset crushed the telegram into his pocket and coolly 
sipped his wine, watching the face of Monk with a 
coldly curious gaze. 

Monk flashed at him a look of defiance and hatred ; 
Bisset only smiled exasperatingly. 


7 he Investigation Continues . 


345 


After luncheon Bisset proclaimed his intention of pro- 
ceeding up to Eastbourne immediately on his return to 
London. He could not be persuaded to remain to din- 
ner ; and he begged the marquis to telegraph him if the 
spectre were again seen. He obtained Fifine’s address 
and stowed it carefully in his pocket-book, and soon 
after departed in good spirits on his return to town. 

Some six days after Bisset’s departure from Sussex, 
Monk received a letter from Flack, informing him that 
‘ Miss Gwyn ’ was a close prisoner in Lisle Street, that 
she demanded her freedom, that she had become 
alarmed and distrustful of her jailers, and begged to seb 
Mr. Monk immediately. 

The time had come when Monk must go to her. He 
knew that Bisset had withdrawn himself from the Park 
only to watch him. He was well assured that Bisset in 
clever disguise, was watching the arrival of every train 
at London Bridge. Clearly his point then was not to go 
to London Bridge. 

Convinced that his theory was right, he proceeded to 
act upon it. He left Eastbourne that evening for Lon- 
don, but alighted at Croydon, hired a private carriage, 
and continued his journey in it. 

He arrived in London at a late hour, and dismissing 
the vehicle, proceeded on foot to a small family hotel 
of which he knew, and at which he was not known. 

He registered himself under an assumed name, and 
before he slept had shaved his face clean of beard, leav- 
ing only a heavy mustache. The result of this last pro- 
cedure was to disguise him most effectually. He scarce- 
ly knew himself when he had finished and contempla- 
ted his reflection in the mirror. He was not nearly so 
well-looking as before. The heavy beard had hidden a 
villainous mouth, a pair of massive jaws, and a long, 
retreating chin. He looked ten years older than before, 


346 


The Haunted Husband. 


and his cool, calculating nature, his low cunning, his 
ignoble soul, declared themselves in every line of his 
now uncovered visage. 

He sighed, realizing that he had ruthlessly parted 
with his greatest beauty, and one that had masked all 
his facial defects. 

“ I’ll get a false beard to-morrow to wear until mine 
shall be grown,” he thought discontentedly. 

He went to bed and to sleep. In the morning he took 
his breakfast in his room, and about nine o'clock he took 
a hansom cab and proceeded to Lisle Street. 

He was admitted by a slovenly housemaid, and 
directed to Mrs. Crowl’s room. He went upstairs, 
and knocked at Mrs. Crowl’s sitting-room door. Flack 
admitted him. 

Neither Flack nor Mrs. Crowl knew him. He came 
in jauntily, closing the door behind him. Bernice was 
not in the room, as he saw at the first glance. His face, 
grown so suddenly old and displaying the hitherto hid- 
den indices of his true character, preserved little of his 
ancient semblance, and Mrs. Crowl and Flack continued 
to regard him without recognition. 

Monk smiled, and his wide mouth looked strangely 
distorted. 

“ So you don’t know me he exclaimed. 

They knew his voice, and stared at him stupidly, in 
amazement which was succeeded by alarm. 

“ What’s up governor ?” Flack ejaculated. “ Anything 
wrong ? Cops after you ? 

“ No,” replied Monk ; “ I have chosen to shave my 
beard, that’s all. How is Miss Gwyn ?” 

“ She is very indignant at being kept a prisoner, sir,” 
said Mrs. Crowl. “ She has called for help, but no one 
heard her. There’s no lodgers in the house in the day- 
time, and nights I give her a sleeping potion in her tea 


The Investigation Continues. 


347 


and she none the wiser for it. The landlady here is 
my friend, and my own cousin, too, sir, and I’ve promised 
her a five-pound note when my employer — that’s you, 
sir — comes for his refractory sister. My cousin thinks, 
sir, that Miss Gwyn is wild to run away from a good 
home and be an actress, and she thinks you quite right 
to keep the young lady shut up until you take her back 
home.” 

‘‘ How did you find Miss Gwyn, Flack ?” inquired 
Monk. 

Flack replied by narrating the circumstances attend- 
ing his recognition and recovery of Lady Chetwynd. 

“ Mrs. Crowl, you and Flack, with the young lady, 
must set out for Mawr Castle this evening. I cannot go 
with you, nor follow you at present. And during your 
stay there Miss Gwyn must be guarded as carefully as 
if she were the Man with the Iron Mask. You under- 
stand ?” 

Mrs. Crowl answered in the affirmative. 

“ Now take me to Miss Gwyn,” said Monk. “ Or 
stay. Is she in the bed-room adjoining? Let her out 
here, and you two remain in there. I want to see her 
alone.” 

These orders were obeyed, and Bernice was alone 
with Monk. The two surveyed each other a moment 
in silence. Bernice was pale and wan, but her face was 
calm and resolute. 

She did not know Monk at the first glance, and her 
face blanched a little as she gazed at the heavy, cruel 
jaws, the retreating chin, the villainous mouth. Her 
instinct warned her that here stood a villain upon whose 
very face nature had set its mark, warning people not to 
trust him. But when she lifted her eyes and noticed 
his swart complexion — his small black eyes, his low 


34 § 


The Haunted Husband. 


brows and bushy hair — she started back, half in recog- 
nition, half in terror. 

“What! don’t you know me, Bernice ?” said Monk, 
approaching her and holding out his hand. 

“ Is it — is it Gilbert ?” 

“ Yes, it’s Gilbert. But why do you shrink away, 
Bernice ? Why that look of loathing in your eyes ? 
Good heavens ! is your affection dependent upon my 
possession of a lot of hair on my face ?” 

Bernice stared at him in wonder and amazement. 
For the first time in all her knowledge of him she 
feared him. She distrusted him instinctively, now that 
she saw for the first time plainly his uncovered visage. 

“ You are not very flattering, Bernice,” said Monk, 
his vanity bitterly wounded. “ If I had known by what 
slight tenure I held your boasted affection, I would 
have guarded by beard as my most precious posses- 
sion.” 

“ Don’t think ill of me, Gilbert,” said Bernice, her 
voice fluttering. “ You are changed, and I hardly knew 
you at first. Forgive me if I have wounded you. I 
cannot tell you how glad I am to see you.” 

“ Even though you did run away from me, eh ?” 

“ I went away from you secretly because I feared 
you would not consent to let me go openly, Gilbert,” 
said Bernice bravely. “ I was grateful to you, and 
affectionate, too, Gilbert ; but indeed, indeed, I cannot 
be dependent upon you. It is not right that you, who 
are yourself poor, should support me, who am able to 
support myself.” 

“ But I love to support you, Bernice. I feel it no 
burden to provide for your wants. I love you, and I 
want you to cling to me.” 

“ Don’t tell me in that tone that you love me, Gil- 
bert,” said Bernice, sorrowfully. “You must not love 


The Investigation Continues. 


349 


me in that way ; for, whatever he may do, I shall feel 
that I am Roy’s wife till I die. No other man than he 
must ever speak of love to me.” 

“You are absurdly quixotic, Bernice,” said Monk, 
coldly. “ I have a right to the life I have twice saved. 
Are you not selfish in refusing me the only payment I 
crave for all I have done for you ? Look at the amounts 
of money I have spent upon you. I paid your French 
governess a hundred pounds a year. I kept up an expen- 
sive establishment for you at Mawr Castle. I have hired 
servants for you, and lavished money upon your clothes, 
jewels, music, books, caprices ; and this is my reward ! 
You are anxious to throw me over. You are tired of 
the innocent seclusion of your home in Wales, and want 
to see the world.” 

“ You wrong me, Gilbert. But I must repeat, at the 
risk of being again misunderstood, that I cannot return 
to Mawr Castle. I have no claim there ; I decline to 
return to it, and I insist on being allowed to go my own 
way, and earn my own living. I want you to help me 
get a situation as governess.” 

Monk was driven at bay. He could not allow her to 
go forth into the world to earn her living. A detective 
with the scent of a bloodhound was upon his track. 
His only safety lay in outwitting his pursuer, and 
hiding Bernice away in some place like Mawr Castle, or 
else to marry her and convey her secretly abroad. 
She would not marry him now — he believed that she 
would consent in course of time — and he must, there- 
fore, send her to Mawr Castle. But if she would not 
go ? What then ? His safety depended on her going. 
She must go ! 

He set his teeth together grimly, and his mouth and 
jaws set themselves in a hard and angry expression. 

“ Bernice,” he said, and there was a tone in his voice 


350 


The Haunted Husband. 


which she had never heard in it before, “ as your 
brother, I shall exercise a brother’s loving authority, 
and send you back to the safe seclusion of Mawr Castle. 
If you feel any gratitude toward me for what I have 
done for you, you will go quietly and willingly.” 

“ I will not go !” flashed Bernice. 

“You will !” said Monk, grimly. “I am saving you 
only from a fate which would be too hard and bitter 
for one so tenderly nurtured as you. I will see that 
Flack and Mrs. Crowl treat you respectfully, but you 
go with them to Mawr Castle to-night.” 

He would not listen to her protestations. He called 
to Mrs. Crowl and Flack, who came forth from the 
inner room. 

“ Conduct Miss Gwyn to her room, Mrs. Crowl,” said 
Monk. “ And remember, madam, that you are to treat 
Miss Gwyn with the gentlest courtesy. She will set out 
with you this evening for Wales.” 

Bernice retreated before Mrs. Crowl, but that person 
caught her up in her arms, springing suddenly upon 
her, carried her to the inner room, and locked her in. 

During the remainder of the day Mrs. Crowl paid 
frequent visits to Lady Chetwynd, endeavoring to obtain 
her ladyship’s submission to Monk’s will, but she might 
as well have talked to marble. Bernice’s suspicions and 
distrust of Mrs. Crowl had extended themselves to sus- 
picion and distrust of Monk, and she would not willingly 
go back to his protection. 

About five o’clock Mrs. Crowl brought a supper to 
her prisoner, with a hot cup of tea which was carefully 
drugged with a sleeping powder. The woman went out, 
leaving Bernice alone. Young Lady Chetwynd ate her 
supper, but avoided the tea, which she poured upon 
her carpet behind the chest of drawers, convinced that 
the beverage was drugged. 


The Investigation Continues . 


35i 


Then, having finished her supper, she lay on the bed 
and closed her eyes. 

A few minutes later Mrs. Crowl entered. She glanced 
at the recumbent figure on the bed, and looked in the 
empty cup. Then she opened the door leading from 
the bedroom into the passage without, and the land- 
lady, who was standing outside, came in. 

“ You may as well take the tray out at this door,’* 
said Mrs. Crowl. “ The girl’s asleep, and will not 
waken till morning. I gave her a heavy dose, on 
account of the long journey that’s before us. This 
door need not be locked again. Flack has gone for a 
cab and will be here directly, and will carry the girl 
down through this door, it being the shortest way. 
Here’s your money, Nancy, and five pounds besides.” • 

“ I’ll take it to the light and count it,” said the land- 
lady, going into the sitting-room. “ See here,” she added, 
a moment later. “ The pay is ten shillings short. Meals 
for Miss Gwyn were extra, you know.” 

Mrs. Crowl came and bent over the bed. Assured 
that Bernice slept, she went into the sitting-room to 
assist the landlady in recounting the money. 

As quick as a flash, Bernice leaped from the bed, 
caught up her effects, which were on a chair by the 
door, and fled out into the passage and down the stairs, 
putting on her hat as she ran. 

The women heard her flight, and flew after her in a 
panic. 

Too late ! The house door was ajar, as Flack had 
left it on going out to signal a cab. Bernice sped down 
the steps into the street. She was scarcely upon the 
pavement when a cab rolled up and Flack leaped out, 
directly in her path ! 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

MISTRESS AND MAID. 

Young Lady Chetwynd did not lose her presence of 
mind as Flack, springing from the cab, barred her 
further progress down the street. He recognized her 
pven as she did him. With a great oath, and with out- 
stretched hands, he sprang forward to intercept her. 
But with the quickness of a flash, Bernice wheeled and 
ran in the direction she had come, passing the lodging- 
house from which she had just escaped. She had barely 
passed, when Mrs. Crowl and the landlady, in a panic, 
came out of the house and swiftly descended the steps 
in search of her. 

Flack and the two women bounded in pursuit of the 
young fugitive. The hour was yet early, but the sky 
was fast darkening, and a fine mist was beginning to 
fall. A gas lamp or two flickered through the wet. 
There were few people in the street. Bernice had a 
brief start of her pursuers and flew on like a mad crea- 
ture. She turned the nearest corner instinctively, ran 
a block, and turned a second corner before her pursuers 
appeared around the first. 

There had been a momentary delay in the pursuit. 
The landlady had gone back to her open house. Mrs. 
Crowl, remembering suddenly that she had not on 
her bonnet, signalled to the cab Flack had summoned, 
[ 352 ] 


Mistress and Maid. 



waited, for it to come up, and continued her pursuit in 
that. Flack had been detained for an instant by Mrs. 
Crowl, who had frantically begged him to summon the 
cab for her and the delay — brief as it was — was most 
providential for Bernice. 

Flack, with a muttered curse upon his confederate 
for detaining him, dashed on, turning the corner as 
Bernice had done ; but then he paused, looking up and 
down the street, uncertain which way to go. Thus 
occurred another providential delay, contributing fur- 
ther to the escape of the young fugitive. 

“ I can't lose time in this way," muttered the man. 
“ She’s gone down the street." 

He ran in the direction thus indicated. The cab, in 
which was Mrs. Crowl, followed his guidance, and 
passed him in the pursuit. Flack had not gone more 
than a block — not further than the first corner — when 
he became convinced that he had taken the wrong 
course. With an audible oath, he turned and hastened 
in the opposite direction. 

All this delay had been fatal to him. 

Bernice had sped on swiftly, turning corner after cor- 
ner, without aim in her course beyond the hope and 
design of placing as great a distance as possible between 
herself and her pursuers. And she saw nothing what- 
ever of them. Once or twice, hearing steps or the roll 
of a cab behind her, she crouched in a doorway and 
1 waited until they had passed, but the steps were not 
those of Flack, and the cab was not that in which Mrs. 
Crowl was seated. 

Gradually, as the distance she had traversed became 
greater, and her heart throbbed fiercely, and she became 
weary and footsore, she slackened her speed to a walk, 
| yet she dare not sit down to rest lest her enemies 
|; should overtake her. 


354 


The Haunted Husband. 


It seemed to her that she had walked many miles 
when at last she came out upon a wide, well-lighted 
street, where omnibuses were running and cabs rattled 
swiftly up and down — a street lined with fine shops, 
and with plenty of promenaders despite the fine mist 
that was falling. 

This was Oxford Street. Bernice mingled with the 
tide of pedestrians, and a feeling of safety and security 
replaced her late terror. Her sacque was on her arm. 
She drew it on over her shoulders, adjusted her hat, 
and walked on very slowly. 

She had three-pence in her pocket, and wore her 
watch and chain, which would serve in emergency as 
money. 

But where was she to spend the night ? She sat 
down upon the doorstep of a darkened house in a quiet 
street, so near to Oxford Street that she could hear the 
rattle of the omnibuses over the pavements. The bells 
of a church somewhere near rang out the hour of eight. 
People passed her, but no one noticed her or spoke to 
her. 

“ Perhaps I might stay here all night ?” Bernice 
thought, anxiously. 

She crept closer in the shadow of the tall iron railing 
protecting the sides of the tall flight of steps. She had 
scarcely ensconced herself to her satisfaction, when a 
man came hurrying along the street and ascended the 
very steps on which she was crouching. He drew a 
latch-key from his pocket, and while vainly endeavoring 
to fit it in the lock in the darkness, his gaze fell upon 
Bernice. 

“ Here, you tramp,” he said, roughly. “ Be off with 
you, or 1 11 call a policeman. My steps are not a loung- 
ing place for tramps like you.” 

Without a word Bernice arose and staggered on. 


Mistress and Maid. 


3 55 


She had no word of pleading — nothing to say for her- 
self — but moved on like a shadow through the darkness 
and the mist. 

A little later she came out into a square, dingy and 
gloomy enough at best, but now dark and dreary with 
its spectral gas-lights and rows of frowning buildings 
on every side. This was Soho Square. Bernice crossed 
the square and passed into a narrow street beyond. 

She could hear the rattle of Oxford Street omnibuses 
and cabs on Oxford Street pavement, but little more 
than a block away ; but this narrow street upon which 
she had entered out of Soho Square was very quiet. 
The houses were mostly darkened. From one house 
alone, the lower floor of which was apparently occupied 
as a shop, streamed out a broad glare of light which 
was strangely alluring. Over the door was suspended 
a sign, with the legend painted upon it in gilt : 


Pierre Bongateau, 
French Confectioner. 


Bernice paused before the confectioner’s window and 
looked in. It was a bright, clear room, with a counter 
upon each side. Upon one counter was every variety 
of French bread. Upon the other counter were simple 
cakes in variety, and cups and saucers, showing that 
the little French shop was a resort for people out 
of Oxford Street who desired a cup of real Frence cof- 
fee. 

“ How pleasant it is in there,” thought Bernice, look- 
ing vainly for the shopman or other occupant of the 
establishment. “ I’d like a cup of coffee. It’s a French 


35 6 


The Haunted Husband. 


shop ; the name is Pierre Bongateau. Was not Fifine’s 
name Bongateau ? I think so. Her father was a 
pastry-cook, living in Soho Square, or just out of it. 
Was that Soho Square back yonder? Perhaps this is 
Fifine’s father’s shop.” 

She continued to look into the room with longing 
eyes. 

A woman with a basket on her arm, came hurrying 
past Bernice, and pushing open the door, entered the 
shop. There was a bell attached to the door, and it 
rang out sharply. A woman came out of the little back 
parlor behind the shop, and proceeded to wait upon the 
late customer. 

The shopwoman was French, as was apparent at a 
glance. She wore a trimly-fitting black gown, a jaunty 
little white apron, trimmed with cherry ribbons, and a 
coquettish little white cap, with a cherry ribbon in that 
also. The dark sallow face under the cap, with bright 
black eyes and a vivacious expression, struck Bernice 
as being strangely familiar. 

It was — yes, it was Fifine, her former maid. 

Bernice watched the Frenchwoman with a wistful 
gaze. The customer came out presently with a well 
filled basket, and Fifine began to cover the bread and 
cakes with a thin gauze, preparatory to closing the shop 
for the night. 

“She is going to shut up,” murmured Bernice. 
“ And then I shall be doubly alone, Fifine loved me. 
She was good-hearted. I am very tired, I wonder if 
she would give me shelter to-night, and not betray me 
to any one. I wish I dared go in.” 

A noisy party of young men came out of Oxford 
Street, approaching her. As they drew near they 
espied her, and one of them, with a drunken laugh, 
endeavored to peer into the girl’s fao^. 


Mistress and Maid. 


35 7 


“ Let’s see your face, my beauty,” he hiccoughed. 
“ What — shy ? Here, boys, is something new. A girl 
actually shy, although she’s in London streets alone at 
this hour. Bah ! she’s acting. I’ll have the kiss, or 
we’ll go home with you, my dear,. or both. Now for 
it !” 

He put out his arm to clasp her waist. With a stifled 
scream, Bernice sprang away from him and ran into 
the pastry-cook’s shop, the bell on the door ringing 
loudly. 

Fifine turned toward the new-comer and glanced also 
out of the door. She comprehended the cause of the 
abrupt ingress. 

“ Sit down, Mademoiselle,” she said, in her soft French 
accent. “ The men will soon be gone. You are safe 
here.” 

Bernice’s hair vailed her face. She flung it back 
with a sudden gesture, pushed back her shabby, limp 
little hat, and stood revealed, pale, despairing, yet 
wondrously beautiful. 

“ Fifine,” she said, softly, “ you think me dead. I 
am changed, I know ; but don’t you know me ?” 

The voice was recognized sooner than the lovely face. 
Fifine staggered back with a great gasp, and then, 
believing that she looked upon a spectre, gave a pierc- 
ing scream and fell to the floor in a swoon. 

The noisy and lawless young men whose insults had 
i driven Bernice to seek refuge in the French confection- 
! er’s shop passed on when they saw their intended vic- 
tim enter the shop door. No one in the house was 
aroused by the scream of Fifine. Bernice devoted her- 
self with all haste to the recovery of the Frenchwoman. 

Her efforts were soon rewarded by the gradual 
return of Fifine to consciousness. The Frenchwoman 
gave a great gasp similar to that she had given when 


353 


Ik c Haunted Husband. 


fainting, and opened her eyes, only to close them again 
tightly, and to repeat her scream with added vigor and 
fierceness. 

Lady Chetwynd stooped over the recumbent figure, 
and said, in a tone of gentle authority : 

“ Hush, Fifine. You will have the police here in a 
moment more. Compose yourself. Can you not com- 
prehend that I am Lady Chetwynd ?” 

Fifine gathered up her sprawling figure into the 
shape of a ball, and rocked herself to and fro frantically, 
crying out shrilly in the French language : 

“ Oh, Heaven ! it’s a ghost ! It’s a warning ! I am 
not long for this world ! I’m to be cut off in my youth- 
ful prime. Oh, the good Lord have pity ? My good 
father ! My poor mother !” 

She shrank away into the farther corner. Lady 
Chetwynd followed her, expostulating, entreating, rea- 
soning. As the Frenchwoman grew somewhat calmer, 
Bernice laid her white, cool hand upon the hand of her 
former maid, saying : 

“ Grasp my hand, Fifine. There, you see I am flesh 
and blood. Don’t tremble and moan so. It is I, indeed, 
Fifine. I did not die, as you thought.” 

Fifine’s faith that her visitor was a ghost was stag- 
gered. The Frenchwoman’s native sense began to 
assert itself. Her memory, too, was qhickened, and 
she recollected various incidents that had transpired 
during the past few days that went far to proclaim the 
fact that Lady Chetwynd had escaped the grave and 
was still living. 

“There you see it is I, and not a ghost,” said Lady 
Chetwynd, as Fifine’s limp body began to stiffen, and 
Fifine’s eyes began to assume their normal proportions. 
“ Haven’t you a kind word for me, Fifine ? I am in 
sore need of a friend. I had no intention of seeking 


Mistress and Maid. 


359 


you. I came upon you by chance. Will you give me a 
night’s shelter, and will you keep my secret, Fifine ? I 
want no one, not even Lord Chetwynd, to know that I 
live.” 

“What, does not my lord know?” cried Fifine, 
amazed. 

“ No. Promise me that you will keep my secret, that 
you will tell no one that Lady Chetwynd lives. Swear 
it, Fifine.” 

“ I promise — I swear it,” said Fifine, in an awe-struck 
voice. “ But, my lady, I cannot understand how it is 
that you live and that my lord does not know it.” 

“ I will explain. Remember that you are bound by 
an oath to keep my secret. But first, are we alone ?” 
and Lady Chetwynd glanced toward the door of the 
rear parlor. 

“ Yes, my lady, we are alone in the house. The good 
father and mother went to the French theatre to-night 
and I am alone in charge. I am a lady’s maid now as 
before, my lady, but my mistress is at the opera this 
evening, and I am privileged to remain here until eleven 
o’clock. You can speak freely, my lady — no one will 
hear us.” 

There was a timorous look still on the girl’s face 
which Lady Chetwynd marked. 

“ I see, Fifine,” she said, “ that even now you are not 
altogether persuaded that I am no spectre. Does it 
, seem so improbable that I should have been coffined and 
i consigned to the burial vault while I was in a state of 
trance ? It is strange and improbable, I know, but it is 
true, and mine is not the only case of burial during a 
trance resembling death. But one person alone sus- 
pected that animation was only suspended, not annihi- 
lated, within me, and that was Mr. Monk.” 

“ My faith ! And Mr. Monk rescued you, my lady ?” 


The Haunted Husband. 


360 


In response to this exclamation, Bernice told Fifine 
her whole pitiful story, including Lord Chetwynd’s in- 
tended marriage with Sylvia Monk, and Gilbert Monk’s 
avowal of his love to her. She ended by saying : 

“ I have tried to get a situation as governess. I have 
but three-pence in my pocket to-night, and I am shel- 
terless.” 

“Not shelterless while Fifine lives, my lady. I will 
keep your secret. No hypocrite nor mock sympathy 
from any one can drag it from me,” exclaimed the 
Frenchwoman, volubly. “ Ah ! my lady, you were kind 
to me and I do not forget it. I wish I might live with 
you again, although I have a good mistress now. You 
shall stay here, my lady, until you can get a situa- 
tion. My room is unused here, and you shall have it. 
The good father and mother need not suspect who you 
are, my lady. Let them think you Miss Gwyn, a new 
lodger, a lady I used to know. Shall it be so ?” 

“ If you please, Fifine. You comfort me.” 

“ And you need comfort, poor infant !” said Fifine, 
again rubbing her eyes industriously. “ Was ever such 
sorrow, such romance, such despair ? Ah ! my lady, the 
false husband shall not find you here. You are safe 
here. It may be that I can get you a situation as com- 
panion, my lady,” she said, with a start and a sudden 
flush. “ And then I could serve you still though secretly. 
My mistress has sought a companion of accomplishments 
for a month past. She wants a young lady who can 
sing and play the pianoforte and read French — a 
dressed-up lady, whom she will treat as a lady ; for with 
all her proud, cold ways, my mistress is a lady to her 
heart’s core. I will recommend you to her as Miss 
Gwyn, my former mistress in reduced circumstances, 
and she has such faith in me that she will gladly 


Mistress and Maid. 


0 61 


e ng a ge you. I have been with her since the week after 
your ladyship died — that is, was buried.” 

“ Oh, Fifine, if you can only get this place for me ! 
I feel so lost, so cast out into the great world, so help- 
less and forlorn. Who is your mistress ?” 

“ Lady Diana Northwick, madame. She’s a beauty 
and a belle, and cold as ice. I’ll speak to Lady Diana 
this very night, and to-morrow, my lady, you shall be in 
your new home. Let me get you a cup of coffee, my 
lady,” said the Frenchwoman. “ Come into the little 
back parlor.” 

Fifine conducted her former mistress into the rear 
room, where wax candles were burning, and an air of 
coziness prevailed. Bernice sank into an easy chair 
which Fifine drew to the table, and the maid bustled 
about, preparing a cup of strong French coffee. She 
brought it, all black and steaming, to Lady Chetwynd, 
with a roll. The marchioness drank the fragrant bev- 
erage eagerly. 

1 “ I wonder,” said Fifine, thoughtfully, “ if my lord 

1 does not suspect that you live, my lady. There was a 
! man here the other day, my mother tells me, a gentle- 
; man, a swell with an eye-glass and a cane, who asked 
for me. He came to Lady Diana’s to see me. And 
1 what did the miserable want ? Why only to ask what 
dress your ladyship was buried in, and if it had a fine 
s 'darn in the lace under the .sleeve ? Of course it had. 
1 Did I not darn the rent myself, and was it not well 
a done ? He brought the dress to me, and I identified it. 
1 But what did he mean ? There is a mystery here which 
r das puzzled me much.” 

s “ 1 know no such person as you describe, Fifine, and I 
’’ annot think who he can be, but I left my dress at the 
] Park the last time I was there, and securely hidden, as 
I thought, So they have found it ? Ah, he must have 


The Haunted Husband. 


362 


been sent to you by old Ragee !” cried Bernice, paling 
suddenly. “ Fifine, that woman has twice tried to take my 
life. I am afraid of her. She has found the dress and 
has employed some one to seek for me.’ 

“ You must be right, my lady, for my mother tells me 
that a strange heathen woman has been here twice, 
asking singular questions, and wanting to be taken in as 
lodger. She was very anxious to know if my mother 
had a lady lodging here, and she stayed in the shop 
many hours watching the door of this room as a cat 
watches a mouse. My mother thought her demented. 
I could not think who she might be ; but she is Ragee 
I feel ready to swear.” 

“She will come again. She is cruel, remorseless 
pitiless. She is like a human tigress thirsting for m3 
blood. Fifine, in Heaven’s name, promise me agaii 
that you will keep my secret ; that not even to Lor< 
Chetwynd himself will you reveal the fact that I live 
promise ?” 

“ I swear to keep your secret, my lady, until yoi 
yourself give me leave to tell it !” said Fifine solemnly 
“ I will not betray you even to my own parents or to m 
mistress.” 

“ Then you must cease to call me ‘ my lady,’ Fifirn 
I am only Miss Gwyn — Miss Bernice Gwyn you can ca 
me. I shall have to relinquish my own name < 
Bernice.” 

Fifine approached and removed the empty cup. The 
she took Lad) 7- Chetwynd’s hand and kissed it affectioi 
ately, mentally registering a vow to be true to tl 
promise she had given, the solemn oath she had take 
and to befriend and protect her former young mistrej 
to the best of her ability. 

A sound of the rattling of heavy wooden shutters w 
now heard. 


Bernice Anxiously Sought . 363 


“ It is my father,” said Fifine. “ He is putting up the 
shutters. The father and mother have returned from 
the theatre, and I must go soon to my mistress. I will 
wait to commend your ladyship to the care of the good 
mother.” 

The shop door was pushed open, the bell ringing vio- 
lently. Fifine’s parents had returned. Lady Chetwynd 
rose up taking off her limp little hat, and awaited their 
appearance. Fifine ran and opened the door leading 
into the shop, and called out volubly : 

“Is it you, my father ? Hasten this way, I have a 
guest to consign to your care before I leave. Come !” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

BERNICE ANXIOUSLY SOUGHT. 

9 

Young Lady Chetwynd trembled with a terrible anx- 
iety and dread as the French confectioner and his wife 
entered the cozy little back parlor behind their shop, 
where she awaited them. She stood up, pale, yet with 
a sweet and gentle dignity, a quiet self-possession, and 
a faint smile on her brave, sweet young face, that 
thrilled Fifine with a new love and respect for her. 

“Come in, mon ptre ; come in, ma mere," said Lady 
Chetwynd ’s former maid, volubly. “ I have here a sur- 
prise for you. I have taken in a lodger for the night. 
It is Miss — Miss Gwyn, a former mistress of mine. Miss 
Gwyn, Monsieur and Madame Bongateau, my good 
father and mother.” 

M. Bongateau, repressing a look of surprise, made a 
flourishing bow to “ Miss Gwyn Madame Bongateau 


3 6 4 


The Haunted Husband. 


made a little bobbing courtesy, intended to indicate the 
deepest respect for the young lady. 

“ I do not remember your name, Miss Gween,” said 
the confectioner, with an air of hospitality, “ but you are 
welcome to the shelter of my roof and the best my house 
affords. Pray, be seated. Do not stand on our account, 
I beseech you.” 

Bernice resumed her seat. Fifine hastened to remove 
the outer wraps of her mother. 

Bernice liked both husband and wife at first glance. 
Their simple courtesy was no outside veneering, but the 
expression of kindly natures and a true, inbred polite- 
ness. They asked no questions. They saw that their 
guest was a lady, and Fifine’s simple introduction had 
been sufficient to commend her to their kindest atten- 
tion. 

Fifine made fresh coffee for her parents and a little 
supper was eaten, at which young Lady Chetwynd took 
part. After the supper, Fifine conducted her ladyship 
to a pretty little bedroom upstairs, overlooking the 
street. This was .Fifine’s own room when at home. 

“ My lady,” she said, simply, “ you will honor me by 
wearing my clothing as it were your own. Your out- 
side garments are quite ruined. We will attend to 
those to-morrow. You are safe here. I will put my 
parents still further on their guard against your 
enemies. And now good -night. 

She took Lady Chetwynd’s thin, white hand and 
kissed it, but Bernice stooped and kissed Fifine’s cheek 
with a grateful affection that brought tears to the girl’s 
eyes. 

Fifine soon withdrew, and Lady Chetwynd undressed, 
and went to bed and to sleep. 

It was late in the morning when she awakened. The 
shop-bell was ringing fitfully below, as customers came 


Bernice Anxiously Sought . 


365 


and went. Bernice arose and dressed herself in the 
garments Fifine had provided for her. Her toilet was 
scarcely made when a low knock on the door announced 
Madame Bongateau, who came in with a tray on which 
was coffee, hot rolls, and little pats of new, yellow but- 
ter, unsalted. 

Madame greeted her guest with kindly interest, and 
inquired with solicitude how she had passed the night, 
and how she found herself this morning. Bernice hav- 
ing replied satisfactorily to these inquiries, madame 
said : 

“It is much more cheerful down stairs than here, Made- 
moiselle. When you have eaten your breakfast, come 
down to our little back parlor and read the morning 
papers by the fire. The morning is wet and chilly, and 
Pierre would insist upon the extravagance of a fire. I 
own the effect is delicious. You will come, Mademoi- 
selle ?” 

Bernice assented, and her hostess withdrew. The 
young fugitive ate her breakfast, and soon after de- 
scended to the little parlor, which was indeed bright 
and cozy A low fire was burning in the grate. 

She read the newspapers, looking over the columns 
of “ Wants ” with great care. Madame Bongateau was 
called frequently into the shop, and Bernice was for the 
most of the time alone. She could hear the rattling 
of spoons in the cups as customers sipped their 
coffee ; she could hear distinctly nearly every word 
that was spoken in the shop, yet the murmur of 
voices, and the eager bustling, and the occasional sharp 
reprimands of madame to monsieur were not unpleas- 
ant to her. After her recent enforced and long soli- 
tude, these indications of busy life were, in fact, decidedly 
pleasant. 

At noon Madame Bongateau brought to her guest a 


The Haunted Husband . 


366 


dainty luncheon, daintily served upon a small table, 
which she wheeled before Bernice. 

Bernice had finished her repast, the table had been 
removed, and she was again alone, with a newspaper on 
her knee, when the shop bell tingled for the hundredth 
time that day, and a man entered the shop, which at 
the moment was nearly deserted. Monsieur and 
madame was there, however, at the desk near the parti- 
tion between the shop and parlor, and Bernice heard 
the new-comer approach the desk with a swift stride, 
and address the worthy couple in a voice that startled 
her, and thrilled her very soul with alarm. 

It was the voice of Gilbert Monk ! 

“ Good-morning, Monsieur, Madame,” said Monk, 
politely, yet with perceptible impatience. “ Are you 
the parents of one Fifine Bongateau, who formerly 
lived at Chetwynd Park, Sussex ?” 

Madame Bongateau courteously replied in the affirma- 
tive. 

“ Is Fifine at home ?” demanded Monk, with a quick, 
sharp glance toward the inner room. 

“No, Monsieur,” said madame, in a tone of surprise. 

“ Pardon, Monsieur, but what interest has Monsieur 
in our Fifine ?” inquired Monsieur Bongateau, giving his 
long mustache a fiercer upward twurl. 

“ I am Lord Chetwvnd's step-brother,” said Monk. 
“ I am in search of a young lady who has fled from her 
home and friends. I think, as she had no money, she 
might come to Fifine, who formerly served her. Is she 
here ?” 

“ Who is it you seek, Monsieur ?” inquired Madame 
Bongateau, cautiously. 

Monk hesitated. Bernice held her breath in an agony 
of suspense. 


Bernice Anxiously Sought . 


367 


Monk continued to reflect. With an assumption of 
frankness, he said, at last : 

“ The young lady is known as Miss Gwyn. She may 
have taken another name, or pretended to be some 
noble lady, possibly. She has been ill, and her brain is 
not yet quite right. It is necessary that I find her 
immediately, and restore her to her home. Is she in 
this house ?” 

“ We do not take lodgers, Monsieur,” said Madame 
Bongateau, somewhat loftily. “ We regret that we are 
not able to assist you in your search for Miss Gween, 
but you will be obliged to look for her elsewhere.” 

“ Is she not in this house, Madame ?” demanded 
Monk, sharply. 

“ Hi, Monsieur ? Is it thus you speak to madame, my 
wife?” cried the little confectioner, with his fiercest air. 
“ Do you come here to subject us to the cross-question 
— the inquisition ? Is not this a country where even the 
French exile has his rights ? Be kind enough to depart, 
Monsieur. I cannot permit to madame this agitation. 
Go !” 

The confectioner pointed to the shop door in true 
theatrical style. 

Monk glared at the confectioner, who smiled back at 
him airily. Then, with an oath, Gilbert Monk strode to 
the door. As he passed out a carriage drove up to the 
shop and Miss Monk put her head out of the window, 
calling to her brother. 

He started, looked annoyed and surprised, but obeyed 
her summons. His dejected, angry air told plainly the 
story of his discomfiture. 

“ I came to see Fifine,” said Sylvia, regarding her 
brother keenly, “ but I think I won’t get out, after all. 
Did you receive the note I sent you in care of Scotsby 
and Newman, Chancery Lane ?” 


3 68 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ No, I’ve not been around there to-day,” said Monk, 
sullenly. “ I left you in Sussex. What are you doing 
in town.” 

“ We came up— Roy and I— to do a little shopping,” 
said Miss Monk. “ We’ve ordered the wedding-cards. 
Roy is off this morning with Mr. Tempest, and I have 
been shopping in Regent Street. I am uneasy, Gilbert. 
You look strangely. Is — is all safe ?” she asked, in a 
whisper too low for the ears of coachman or footmen. 

“ Not particularly so,” said Monk, coolly. “ The 
girl’s escaped from me.” 

“ Escaped ! Great Heaven ! Escaped !” 

“ Yes. You act as if all the danger threatened you. 
You needn’t be troubled. She won’t trouble you,” said 
Monk, speaking in Hindostanee, that the servants might 
not understand him. 

“Come and see me at Park Lane, Gilbert, at Lady 
Marchmont’s. And give me your address. I may need 
to communicate with you.” 

Monk had gone back, since the assumption of his false 
beard, to the West End hotel he was in the habit of fre- 
quenting. He gave his address promptly, and, declin- 
ing a drive with his sister, walked moodily toward Ox- 
ford Street. Miss Monk gave her order, and the carriage 
turned into Oxford Street and proceeded westward. It 
stopped, however, not a block away, and Miss Monk 
alighted and went into a linen-draper’s shop. She had 
brought Ragee with her on her shopping excursion, and 
had left her here in waiting. She gave the Hindoo 
woman certain directions, and then went on alone to 
Park Lane, while Ragee hurried toward the French con- 
fectioner’s. 

No sooner had Monk departed than Madame Bonga- 
teau hastened into the little back parlor to reassure her 
guest. She found Bernice calm, resolute, and brave. 


Bernice Anxiously Sought . 


5 6 9 


“ You heard all, Mademoiselle ?” asked the French- 
woman. “ Did I do right ? Or was the gentleman your 
brother ?” 

“ You did right, madame, and I thank you. The gen- 
tleman is not my brother. I am an orphan, and have 
neither brother nor sister,” said Bernice. “ I know the 
gentleman’s voice. It is from him I ran away,” and a 
red flush crept up into her clear, olive cheeks. “ He 
wanted me to marry him, and I — I am bound to another.” 

“ Ah ! I understand now,” said the Frenchwoman, 
kindly. “You are safe here, Mademoiselle.” 

“ I have a worse enemy than he,” said Bernice, with 
a frightened start and a glance toward the shop — “ an 
East Indian woman, a Hindoo. I fear her, Madame. 
She is very cunning. I pray she will not come here 
again. Fifine says that she has been here once. Oh, 
Madame, deny me to every one. Do not allow any one 
to see me, I entreat.” 

“ You are safe here, mon enfant said Madame 
Bongateau, reassuringly. “ As to the heathen woman, 
I shall have wit enough to manage her. Trust in me, 
my dear young lady.” 

The shop-bell went ting-a-ling at this moment. 
Monsieur Bongateau was busily engaged in waiting on 
half a dozen customers at once, and madame hastened 
out to wait upon the new-comer. 

The latest arrival was an elderly woman in a long 
black cloak, black poke bonnet, and a thick black vail. 
She looked like a countrywoman. She passed mon- 
sieur, and hurried with a gliding step toward madame, 
meeting her just outside the door of the back parlor. 
It seemed as if she had meant to slip into the inner 
room, but madame blocked her way, demanding what 
she wanted. 

“ You know me,” said the woman, in a foreign accent, 


370 


Ihe Haunted Husband. 


her voice low and sibilant, penetrating to Bernice’s 
ears. “ I’ve been here before. Listen to me.” 

Bernice sat upright in her chair, like one turned to 
stone. The new-comer was Ragee, the Hindoo woman. 
But she could get no satisfaction from Madame Bon- 
gateau, who foiled her at every turn. 

“ I am tired,” said the Hindoo at last. “ Let me go 
into your inner room and rest.” 

She made a dart past Madame Bongateau toward 
the door of the back parlor. The Frenchwoman pounced 
upon her like a hawk, and held her hands in a fierce 
grip, barring the enemy’s progress with her person. 

Monsieur saw and came to the rescue. 

“ It’s a mad beggar-woman,” he explained to his cus- 
tomers. “ Woman, go, or I shall call the police !” 

The Hindoo snarled like a tigress. She was deter- 
mined to enter the inner room, if but for a second. She 
was convinced that Bernice was within. She was pos- 
sessed of a dogged patience, and braced herself to 
await a favorable opportunity of entering the inner 
room. 

“ The police !” cried monsieur. 

The few customers in the confectioner’s shop retreated 
toward the door, and there halted with an instinctive 
desire to know what the woman wanted, and how Bon- 
gateau would rid himself of her. 

“ Let me go in,” snarled Ragee, showing her teeth. 
“ Let me go in, I say. I know the lady. I will not 
harm her. I have just one word to say to her. I am 
her friend.” 

She clutched her bosom as she spoke, grasping a vial 
that was hidden within the folds of her dress. 

“ The police !” screamed madame, shrilly, holding the 
Hindoo at bay. 

The shop door opened, and the shop bell rang again, 


Bernice Anxiously Sought . 


but this time gently. A gentleman came in, a slender, 
dapper West-End swell apparently, with gold-mounted 
eye-glass and gold-mounted walking-stick. I was Mr. 
Bisset, the detective officer. 

“ A cup of coffee, please,” he said, languidly. “ Aw ! 
what’s the wow ?” 

“ A mad beggar-woman, sir,” said a frowzy-headed 
girl, who was edging away toward the door. ‘‘She 
wants to get inside, sir.” 

Bisset’s languid gaze dwelt upon the outlines of the 
“ mad beggar-woman.” Then, with a sudden gleam in 
his lazy eyes, he approached the door of the inner room, 
and the group gathered before it. 

“You called for the police, Monsieur ?” he asked. 
“Very well. I’m an officer in the service. What do 
you want ?” 

Bongateau surveyed the dandy in astonishment. 

“You a police?” cried the Frenchman. “Oh, ver’ 
well. Get this woman out. I want her not here. She 
have annoy us to death.” 

Bisset clutched the woman’s arm. She shrank away 
from him snarling. With a sudden movement, he threw 
up her vail, revealing the withered, dusky face of the 
Hindoo woman. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it ?” said Bisset, coolly. “ What are 
you rowing here for ?” 

Ragee did not answer, but her teeth gleamed at her 
interlocutor from between her shiveled lips, and she 
glared at him sullenly. 

“ Has she pretended that she’s looking here for a 
young lady, Madame ?” asked Bisset. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ What name did she ask for ?” 

“ Miss — Miss Gwellan, I think,” replied madame, with 
an effort at remembering. 


372 


The Haunted Husband. 


Bisset’s face gleamed. 

“ So !” he said. The monosyllable, as if rolled from 
his lips, was full of meaning. “ Did she find Miss 
Gwellan ?” 

“ No, sir ; there’s no lady of that name in my house.” 

“ Indeed ! You hear that, do you, you venerable 
heathen ? You’d better be off.” 

Ragee shared Bisset’s opinion as to the propriety of 
her departure. She entertained a wholesome fear of a 
slender, swell-like officer, who had a grip of iron, and 
who could talk in Hindostanee. And so, grumbling 
and snarling, she hurried away. 

But once outside the shop, she paused and muttered, 
as Gilbert Monk had done : 

“ I know she’s in there. Only to get at her. Let 
me see her but one moment, and she will never disturb 
Missy again. There’s three of us after her, but I shall 
get her.” 

She went across the street to a stationer’s shop, and 
so ensconced herself within the stationer’s window as 
to command a view of the French confectioner’s door. 
And thus she waited. 

Meanwhile Bissetwas ingratiating himself with mon- 
sieur and madame. 

“ That was a dangerous woman,” remarked the 
officer, after Ragee had vanished. “ You must keep 
Miss Gwellan out of the old creature’s way, or the 
Hindoo will do her a mischief.” 

“ The heathen woman won’t be allowed to enter the 
shop again,” said madame, decisively. 

“She is artful. She will creep in upon Miss Gwel- 
lan — ” 

“There’s no Miss Gwellan here,” said madame, 
shortly. 

“ No ? Did I mistake the name ?” 


Bernice Anxiously Sought. 


^ *• 'y 

0/0 


The woman spoke that name. I do no know it, 
asseverated madame. 

“ What is the name, then ?” asked Bisset, insinua- 
tingly. “ Not Gwellan, you say. What then ?” 

Madame looked perturbed. Monsieur shrugged hi - 
shoulders, and went away to wait upon his customers. 

“ This is the third time to-day I have been asked 
about a young lady who is supposed to be here,” said 
madame. “ My faith ! Is there, then, no liberty in 
England ? First comes a tall young man, dark and 
swarthy, with a big beard — ” 

“ Monk ” interpolated Bisset, with an odd gleam in 
his eyes. 

“ Next comes the heathen woman ; and now you 
question me,” said madame, unheeding his interruption. 
“ And why all this ? I do not like it. The empire, at 
its worst, had not this espionage — oh, no ! Who is the 
young lady so wanted ? What has she done ? Come, 
then ; answer, if you can.” 

“ I am looking for a young lady,” said Bisset, frankly. 
“ I don’t know what she calls herself. I believe that she 
is in your house. I am her true friend. Let me see her 
but for a moment, and I will convince you and her that 
I am her friend.” 

Madame arched her brows as if resigning herself to 
the care of Heaven. Then she said, sternly : 

“You are like the rest, and I don’t believe that you 
are an officer. Go away. Shall a respectable family 
be driven mad by so many people all on one errand ? 
I know nothing. You drive us wild. Go ! go !” 

She waved her arms with a wild gesture. Bisset was 
experienced in dealing with women-kind, and he saw 
that nothing was to be gained by a further stay. He 
apologized, therefore, for the trouble he had given, and 


37 4 


The Haunted Husband. 


slowly beat a retreat. He strolled toward Oxford Street, 
saying to himself : 

“ The young lady is at Bongateau’s fast enough. The 
name Gwellan. Ha ! I must be careful. I must not 
act too soon. I must see my way clear before I com- 
municate with Lord Chetwynd. The young lady is back 
there, I say, and deuced suspicious. The question is, 
how am I to get speech with her ?” 

That question was occupying the minds of both Gil- 
bert Monk and old Ragee at the same instant. 

It seemed as if a game had been entered upon among 
the three. Which was likely to win 3 

No further demonstration by any of the three was 
made that day. Bernice rested, and was safe in the lit- 
tle back parlor, as carefully guarded as if she had been 
a princess, and the Bongateaus her sworn guards. 

After dinner, which was served to the young Lady 
Chetwynd alone in the little back parlor at six o’clock, 
Fifine arrived in a cab, and came bustling in, all joy 
and excitement. 

Monsieur waited in the shop while Fifine hurried 
into the parlor. 

The wax lights were burning. There was a low fire, 
and Bernice sat before it, her lovely face bowed on her 
hand. Madame was darning lace by the table. Both 
looked up as Fifine entered with a breezy rustling. 

“ Good news, my la — Miss Gwyn !’* cried Fifine, 
approaching her former mistress with a glowing face. 
“ Such good news ! I have talked with Lady Diana, 
and her ladyship will see you at once. She desires me 
to bring you to her now. She is not well this evening, 
and sees no visitors. Will you come ?” 

Young Lady Chetwynd sprang up with a face all 
aglow. 

“ Oh, Fifine ! let us go now !” she exclaimed. “ I 


Bernice Anxiously Sought. 


375 


have been a great trouble to-day to your father and 
mother, I fear, although they will not own it. Mr. 
Monk has been here, and old Ragee, and another. 
They all seem to know that I am here.” 

“ And they are all watching our house,” said madame, 
calmly. “ They have been watching since dusk.” 

“ You hear, Fifine ? How are we to get away ?” 

“ I know not, my la — Miss Gwyn,” replied Fifine, 
growing sober. “ We cannot get away unseen. What 
are we to do, 771a 77iere?" 

Madame Bongateau reflected. 

“ Miss Gwyn has a secret,” she said, quietly. “ It is 
easy to see that, and to see, also, that she is not what 
she seems. But her secret is her own. She has sought 
our protection, and she shall have it. We know that 
whatever she is, and how many her enemies, she is a 
lady, innocent and noble. I will help her to escape 
from the house unseen to-night.” 

“ You, 771a 7 tilre ?'' 

“ I, Fifine. Bring me the gray garments Miss Gween 
wore here last night, the shabby hat, the wrinkled vail. 
Are we not nearly of a height, Miss Gween ? Well, I 
will wear your clothes and go away in the cab which 
Fifine has left outside. The spies will follow me. 
Then you two must steal out on foot into Oxford Street 
and take a cab to Grosvenor Square. Do you under- 
stand ?” 

“ Perfectly. The idea is magnificent, 771a Triere /” cried 
Fifine, in a transport of delight. 

Lady Chetwynd was quietly dressed in a new Sunday 
suit of Fifine’s freshly home from the milliner’s. It was 
a simple, lady-like costume of black silk. Fifine 
brought a velvet jacket to wear over it, and a small 
round hat of black lace, trimmed with a single crushed 


37 6 


The Haunted Husband. 


pink rose. Bernice put these on, with a black vail, and 
was ready to depart. 

Madame hurried up stairs to equip herself in Ber- 
nice’s cast-off outer clothing, and soon returned, 
equipped for the street. After a brief consultation with 
monsieur, she glided out of the house, whispered a few 
words to the cabman, entered the cab, and the vehicle 
rolled swiftly away across Soho Square and into the 
narrow streets beyond. 

Two watchers, Gilbert Monk and old Ragee, started 
in swift pursuit, in cabs waiting near at hand. 

But Mr. Bisset, who was lounging opposite, only 
smiled and muttered : 

‘‘ That’s too thin. I wonder Monk was taken in by it. 
The right parties will be along directly.” 

He was right. The shop-door opened cautiously, 
and Lady Chetwynd and Fifine came out quickly, speed- 
ing through the darkness toward Oxford Street. Bisset 
following them. They signalled a cab, and Bisset heard 
the order given by Fifine. The marchioness and her 
former maid entered the cab, and were driven away 
toward the West End. 

Bisset flung away the stump of a cigar he had been 
smoking, and muttered ; 

“ Treed ! The game is treed ! Grosvenor Square, 
number fifty-three and a half. Why, that’s Lady Diana 
Northwick’s. Wonder how much Lady Diana knows. 
Mr. Monk, I’m coming out ahead. The young lady is 
safe to stay at Lady Diana’s till wanted. I’ll arrange a 
little surprise for my friend Mr. Monk. By Jove, now, 
how he will glare at me when I come out ahead ! To- 
morrow evening will be an eventful one in the history 
of several persons, ha, ha ! I can’t bring things around 
sooner in a way to suit me ! But to-morrow evening- 
ha, ha !” 


United at Last. 


3 77 


Chuckling softly under his breath, he walked along 
Oxford Street leisurely, maturing his plans, while he 
ignited and smoked a fresh cigar. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

UNITED AT LAST. 

As Fifine had remarked to young Lady Chetwynd, 
Lady Diana North wick was in one of her “ lonely moods’' 
upon this evening in which her ladyship had yielded to 
the solicitations of her privileged maid, and consented 
to see Bernice. 

Denying herself to visitors, Lady Diana had shut 
herself up in her boudoir. She was still in her dinner- 
dress of pale blue moire, with overskirt of filmy point 
lace. Amid all the scenes of her social triumphs 
she had never looked more gloriously fair and beauti- 
ful than now, alone in her own room. And yet there 
was a look of sadness on her face now that even her 
most intimate friends had never seen there — an expres- 
sion of wistful yearning that told of secret unrest and 
vain longings. 

Lady Diana was sitting in a low chair before the 
hearth, with a treasure far more precious to her than all 
her jewels and luxurious belongings. And yet it was 
only a baby’s half-worn shoe. 

It was a tiny pink kid shoe, with an embroidery about 
the ankle in seed pearls ; but the kid was faded, the 
embroidery was broken in places, the pearls were dis- 
colored, and there was a tiny hole at the toe, worn long 
ago by a restless baby-foot. 


37 ^ 


The Haunted Husband. 


“ My poor dead baby !” murmured Lady Diana, with 
a sorrow as fresh and keen as in the day when she had 
lost her only child. “ Ah ! if she had lived, I had been 
a better woman !” 

Her tears dropped hot and fast like summer rain, 
into the little half-worn shoe. 

Those who fancied that they knew her best called her 
ladyship cold as ice and heartless. Could they have 
seen her now they would have been amazed. Her 
coldness was but a mask that concealed the warmth of 
a glowing nature — but the snow that covered the sleep- 
ing volcano. Under her cold northern beauty lay hid- 
den a southern nature, full of passion, glow and tender 
yearning. 

“ My poor baby !” she sobbed, kissing the little shoe 
with passionate fervor. “ My little, lost child ! Shall 
I find her up there ?” and she looked upward toward 
heaven. “ She can never come back to me, but per- 
haps — perhaps — I shall go to her.” 

There came a sound of footsteps in the corridor. 
They halted, and a light knock sounded upon the door 
of Lady Diana’s boudoir. 

Her ladyship started, and hurriedly thrust the little 
shoe into her desk, and locked the latter. Then she 
wiped her wet eyes, and with a stern effort at self-con- 
trol, gave the summons to enter. 

The door opened, and Fifine came in, followed by the 
young Marchioness of Chetwynd. 

Lady Diana did not perceive at the first glance the 
slender, black- robed figure in the rear of her maid. 

“ Is it you, Fifine ?” said her ladyship, wearily. “ Do 
you want anything ?” 

“ I have brought the young lady, Miss Gwyn, my 
lady,” said the Frenchwoman. “ Her la — Miss Gwyn 


United at Last . 


379 


is come to see about the post of companion, if you 
please, my lady.” 

Fifine stepped aside, and the soft mellow light fell in 
a tender flood upon the beautiful young marchioness. 

Lady Diana instinctively arose and greeted Bernice 
politely, yet with perceptible surprise. The girl’s south- 
ern beauty and air of high breeding strangely impressed 
her. She thought that she had never seen a beauty 
so refined, so glowing, so tropical and so tender as this 
that shone in clear olive cheeks, low, broad forehead, 
floating black hair, and brown eyes, with “ looks like 
birds flying straightway to the light.” She saw at once 
that Bernice was a lady to her heart’s core, and she 
courteously begged her to be seated near the fire. 

Fifine went into the dressing-room adjoining, and 
there busied herself, leaving her former mistress and 
present mistress to their negotiations. 

Those negotiations were brief. Lady Diana felt 
drawn to Bernice strangely at the outset. She ques- 
tioned Lady Chetwynd concerning her antecedents, but 
Bernice was reticent. She said simply that she was an 
orphan, in reduced circumstances, and compelled to 
earn her own support. She had no references to give, 
no credentials whatever, unless Fifine’s testimony in her 
favor would be considered of value. 

There was no servility in Bernice’s manner. She 
spoke as one lady speaks to another, as equal addresses 
equal, yet with a deference and respect and courtesy 
that were infinitely charming. 

“ Will you play for me, Miss Gwyn ?” asked Diana. 

Bernice went to the grand piano, and played a bril- 
liant operatic air with the touch and exquisite expres- 
sion of a true musician. Then, trailing her fingers 
slowly over the keys, she began to play a Scottish bal- 
lad, accompanying the piano in a voice so clear, so 


The Haunted Husband. 


380 


sweet, so pure, so high in its bird-like range, that Lady 
Diana held her breath to listen. After the ballad 
came a difficult Italian operatic song, exquisitely ren- 
dered. 

“You are a genius, Miss Gwyn,” said Lady Diana, 
charmed and enraptured, “ and your genius finds 
expression in music. Your voice would make your 
fortune !” 

Bernice smiled sorrowfully, as she said : 

“ I shall never sing in public. I do not care for for- 
tune or fame. I only want a safe shelter. Oh, Lady 
Diana, I have known the bitterness of utter poverty, of 
homelessness, of hunger even, and of cold, and I shall 
be content with a safe home.” 

Lady Diana was touched at the sadness of the sweet, 
young voice of the marchioness, and she was quite 
resolved to engage her as her companion. 

“ Do you read French, Miss Gwyn ?” she asked. 

Bernice took up a French book from the table and 
read aloud a few passages with a clear, sweet intonation, 
a low, musical voice, and the accent of a Parisian. 

Lady Diana expressed her delight. 

“ Your reading gives me a rare pleasure, Miss Gwyn. 
I will engage you as my companion. Your duties will 
consist in reading to me, singing to me, and bearing me 
company whenever I desire it. Your salary will be a 
hundred pounds a year, and Fifine may assist you at 
your toilets. Is this satisfactory ?” 

“ Oh, madame ! — oh, Lady Diana !” breathed Bernice, 
all aglow with delight. “ Then I am to stay with you ? 
May I stay to-night ?” 

She raised her big brown eyes in wistful appeal. 
Something in that look, or in the eyes themselves, went 
straight to Lady Diana’s heart. With a singular and 


United at Last. 


38i 


unwonted impulsiveness the lady drew Bernice to her 
breast, and kissed her, murmuring - : 

“My dear child, you shall have a home henceforth 
with me. Your sorrows are all over. Your eyes are 
like sweet eyes that I have loved, and because of the 
strange resemblance I shall love you — even if for no 
other reason. You must feel that I am your friend.” 

Bernice experienced a strange and sweet content. 
She loved Lady Diana already with all the impulsive- 
ness of a long starved young tenderness, and Lady 
Diana’s tears dropped upon her lovely face. 

“ A strange meeting,” said Lady Diana, trying to 
smile. “ I am not myself to-night. Something about 
you, Miss Gwyn, agitates me strangely. You are excited 
too, I see. Fifine tells me that you have been ill, and 
this excitement is not good for you. Fifine shall show 
you to your room.” 

She touched a little silver call-bell on the table. Fifine 
came in from the dressing-room. 

“ Fifine,” said Lady Diana, “ Miss Gwyn will remain 
as my companion. You can show her to her room — the 
rose room, opposite my dressing-room.” 

Bernice said good-night gracefully, and retired with 
Fifine. 

“ What a singular impression this girl makes upon 
me,” said Lady Diana, pacing her floor. “ Who is she ? 
with the beauty of an angel, and the exquisite manners 
of a French marquise. How lovely she is, and yet how 
pure, with something nun-like about her. And her 
innocent eyes, so like my baby’s eyes. Ah ! if my baby 
had lived, and had grown to be like this girl, I should 
be the happiest woman in all the world to-night!” 

During the next day Lady Diana kept Bernice with 
her almost constantly, finding a keen and new delight 
in the girl’s companionship. 


7 he H a unted Husba nd. 


382 


At four o’clock Lady Diana went to drive in the park. 
At six o’clock she returned, and retired to her dressing- 
room to dress for dinner. And at eight o’clock Lady 
Diana dined in state in her magnificent dining-saloon, 
attended by her pompous butler and three footmen in 
powder and livery. An elderly lady friend and young 
Lady Chetwynd dined with their patroness. After din- 
ner Lady Diana proceeded alone to the drawing-room, 
and her two companions retired to their separate rooms. 

Lady Diana had scarcely ensconced herself in an easy 
chair with the last new book from Mudie’s, when a vis- 
itor was announced — Mr. Tempest. 

Lady Diana received him with empressement. The 
great explorer was looking unusually grave and preoc- 
cupied this evening, but also unusually grand and dis- 
tinguished in appearance. He bowed his stately head 
low as he returned Lady Diana’s greetings, and took 
possession of a seat which her ladyship indicated to 
him. 

“ Are you going to Lady Graham’s ball this evening, 
Lady Diana ?” asked Mr. Tempest. “ I understand that 
it is to be the largest crush of the season.” 

Lady Diana shrugged her white shoulders. 

“ I prefer to spend the evening at home. Are you 
going?” 

“ Not to the ball, Lady Diana,” said Tempest, gravely. 
“ I think I shall go to no more balls or parties. I have 
had my brief career in London ; have flashed up like a 
meteor ; been feted, dined and honored far beyond my 
deserts ; and now I believe I will give place to a new 
sensation. In fact I am thinking of going back to 
Tartary.” 

His keen black eyes searched her face. He saw that 
she was suddenly pale. 


United at Last . 


0°0 


“ Is not this a sudden resolution, Mr. Tempest ?” asked 
her ladyship. 

“ Oh, no, madam. I did not intend to remain nearly 
so long in England as I have already done. My busi- 
ness in England is concluded. I shall probably leave 
London this week, and never return to it. I have no 
ties in Britain ; I shall devote my life to Tartary as 
Livingstone devoted his to Africa.” 

“ And do you expect to find happiness in a nomadic 
life in Tartary ?” demanded Lady Diana, bitterly. 

“ No, madam, not happiness, but occupation,” an- 
swered Mr. Tempest. “ My call upon you this evening 
is perhaps the last I shall make ; I shall ever remember 
you with kindness, Lady Diana, and I hope that your 
marriage with Lord Tentamour may be the crowning 
glory and joy of your life.” 

Lady Di’s snow-white face flushed carmine. 

“ You are strangely mistaken, Mr. Tempest,” she 
exclaimed. “ I do not contemplate a marriage with 
Lord Tentamour.” 

“ But many have told me that you were engaged to 
marry Tentamour, Lady Diana.” 

“ As you have lived so long in Tartary, Mr. Tempest, 
you may be excused for believing popular rumor. I 
was engaged to marry Tentamour, but I have discov- 
ered that we are not suited to each other, and have 
given back to Tentamour his freedom.” 

“ After accepting the devotion of the best years of 
his life ?” said Tempest, sternly. 

“ Has Tentamour sent you to intercede for him ?” 
cried Lady Diana, with a flash of defiance. “ I have 
accepted Lord Tentamour’s devotion, sir, but it was not 
because I loved him, but because I was all alone in the 
world and had none other to care for me. I knew him 
when I was but a school-girl. I loved him then. But 


3§4 


7 he Haunted Husband. 


I married Sir Rupert Northwick at my mother’s com- 
mand, and I strove to forget Tentamour. I did my 
duty to my husband whom I did not love. I never 
failed to respect and honor him, thank God. But it 
was Lord Tentamour who wrecked my life and the life 
of my husband. Sir Rupert never suspected that my 
mother was deeply in debt and that she forced me to 
marry him, and that I was sold to him just as truly as 
the Circassian girl in the Turkish slave market is sold 
to the highest bidder. He never-never knew all that 
— and yet — ” 

“ And yet, Lady Diana ?” 

“Let all that pass,” said the Lady Diana, with a 
shudder. “ As for Tentamour, I do not love him, and 
I could not so wrong him as to marry him not loving 
him. His love for me has a strong element of selfish- 
ness in it. If I were poor and obscure, I know that he 
would not care for me.” 

“ I think you are right, Lady Diana. At any rate, it 
is better to wound Tentamour by refusing to marry him 
than to marry him not loving him. You are free now 
to marry whom you will. Lady Diana, you have been 
very gracious to me. Have I been merely the sport of 
a coquette, or have I deceived myself ? The words I am 
about to speak to you have been told to you by a hun- 
dred tongues, but the story is, perhaps, always new. I 
am a lonely, sorrowful embittered man, but I love you 
with all my heart and soul. Will you be my wife ?” 

Lady Diana started. Notwithstanding all her experi- 
ence with lovers, the declaration took her by surprise. 
She flushed rosy red, then paled, and her eyes drooped 
shyly like a girl’s, as she whispered : 

“ Yes, Basil.” 

Tempest’s face kindled with a light like that of the 


U?iited at Last. 


385 


sun. He put his arms around her and drew her to him, 
and said : 

“ Diana, do you love me ?” 

“ Yes,” she whispered, softly and shyly. “ I love you, 
Basil, better than my life.” 

“ Better than you loved Tentamour ?” 

“ That was a school -girl’s fancy. I love you, Basil, 
with all the strength of my woman’s nature, as I never 
loved before. And you, Basil ?” 

“You are mine, my life, my soul !” he said, passion- 
ately kissing and embracing her. “ Are you very sure, 
Diana, that you love me for myself alone ? I am 
your — ” 

“ Basil, you wound me. Do you deem me mercenary 
now because I married Sir Rupert for his money ? I 
have enough for us both. I am glad you are poor.” 

“ Tell me again that you love me.” 

“ I love you, Basil,” she whispered again, shyly, with 
a great passionate love for him shining in her blue eyes, 
on her lovely face. “ You are all the world to me — you 
whom I did not know two months ago.” 

“ You have made your confession to me,” said Tem- 
pest, “ now hear mine. There is something similar in 
our histories. I, too, have been married — ” 

“ You, Basil ? Ah, yes, I heard you were a widower.” 

“ And my wife married me for my money,” said 
Tempest. “ I overheard between her and her lover a 
conversation which drove me mad. I crept up stairs 
to my room and scratched a note to her telling her I 
had heard all. I went to the nursery— I seized my lit- 
tle child — I fled with her — ” 

“ My God !” 

“ I took the child out of England and placed her in 
strange hands. Ah, I am sure now, that I was half 
mad ! And I went to Tartary, and have remained 


The Haunted Husband. 


386 


there ever since. I returned this year to seek my 
daughter but found her dead. I saw you — loved you — 
and won your love. Diana, my real name is not Basil 
Tempest,” and he arose and stood before her, grand, 
noble and kingly : “ my name is Sir Ropert North- 
wick r 

There was a dead and awful silence. Lady Diana 
cowered before him in an agony. She knew him now, 
but she had not before suspected his identity. She 
thought that he had won her love but to mock her, to 
revenge himself upon her, to throw her aside, and her 
soul nearly died within her. She looked up, but his 
face was stern and terrible as the face of an accusing 
judge. 

With a faint shriek, a wail of despair, Lady Diana 
covered her face with her hands. 

“ Diana !” he called to her, softly. 

She looked up again. The sternness had melted from 
his face as ice melts in the sunshine. He was looking 
at her now with a smile of ineffable love and tenderness, 
with a great yearning in his black eyes, a great emotion 
on his swarthy features. 

“ Come to me, Diana,” he said, yet more softly — “ come, 
darling, my precious wife — won at last ! — come to your 
rightful home !” 

He opened wide his arms. 

With a great cry of joy Lady Diana sprang forward, 
and was clasped to his heart. 

Husband and wife were united at last ! 


CONCLUSION. 

Sir Rupert Northwick and Lady Diana were seated 
side by side upon a sofa half an hour later, nearly calm, 
but filled with a joy unspeakable, when another visitor 


United at Last. 


387 


was announced — Lord Tentamour. His lordship came 
in with the air of one at home. He had called to obtain 
a private interview with Lady Diana, but a look of cha- 
grin crossed his face as he beheld the great explorer. 

“ Introduce me to his lordship, Diana,” said Sir Ru- 
pert, quietly. 

Tentamour stared. 

“ Lord Tentamour,” said Lady Diana, with an air of 
joyful pride, which she could not repress, “ allow me 
to introduce to you in our masquerading explorer, Mr. 
Basil Tempest, my husband, Sir Rupert Northwick.” 

Tentamour recoiled in his amazement. 

“ By Jove ! you know.” he gasped, “ it can’t be possi- 
ble !” 

His lordship did not prolong his visit. He went away 
almost immediately. A few minutes later other guests 
arrived, and were ushered into the drawing-room. The 
new-comers were Lord Chetwynd and Bisset, the detec- 
tive officer. 

“ This is an unexpected surprise,” cried the baronet, 
coming forward to meet Chetwynd with a beaming face. 
“ What brings you here so opportunely, my lord ? But 
permit me to present you to my wife, Lady Diana 
Northwick.” 

Lord Chetwynd and Bisset looked their surprise, but 
the marquis bowed to her ladyship, who blushed like a 

girl. 

“ I have been masquerading,” explained the baronet . ] 
“ My name is not Tempest, my lord. In consequence; 
of reasons that I once explained to your lordship, I; 
changed my name and abandoned my country. But' 
my wife has won me back to my proper place, and you 
will henceforth know me under my true name of Sir 
Rupert Northwick.” 

“ It sounds like a romance,” said Chetwynd. “ I con- 


388 


The Haunted Husband . 


gratulate you, Sir Rupert and Lady Diana, upon your 
happiness.” 

“ Lady Diana Northwick, Mr. Bisset,” said Sir Rupert, 
courteously. “ I have a confession, or revelation, rather, 
to make, and Mr. Bisset may as well hear it. In conse- 
quence of a domestic misunderstanding, I abandoned 
my home some fifteen or sixteen years ago, taking with 
me my only child. I took her aboard my yacht, and 
carried her away from England to the remote island of 
St. Kilda, in the Hebridean group, and I left her there 
in the care of the good minister and his wife, intending 
to reclaim the child within five years.” 

Chetwynd uttered a quick exclamation, but Sir 
Rupert motioned him to silence, and continued : 

“ I never went back to St. Kilda. I can hardly account 
for my criminal negligence of my own child. I was 
always saying to myself, ‘ I will go back next year but 
I never went. I thought her safe. I knew the minister 
and his wife would be good to her. They were gentle 
people, and had no children of their own. The child 
thus abandoned by me grew into girlhood. You saw 
her, my lord ; and you loved her, you married her. She 
was known to you as Bernice Gwellan. Her true name 
was Diana Northwick.” 

Lady Diana and Lord Chetwynd were alike speech- 
less. 

“ I offer no excuses for myself,” said Sir Rupert, sor- 
rowfully. “ My poor little child ! She is dead, Diana. 
Chetwynd brought her to England as his wife, but she 
died some two months afterward of a fever contracted 
in visiting the cottage of a sick tenant on the estate. 
She never knew a father’s or a mother’s love but she 
did know a husband’s love, Diana, and her last days were 
happy.” 


United at Last. 


389 


Lady Diana, sobbing now as no one had ever seen her 
sob, held out her hand to Chetwynd. He grasped it. 

“ It is all very strange,” said Bisset, philosophically, 
“ but the strangest thing of all, Sir Rupert, is that none 
of your old friends recognized you on your return as 
Basil Tempest.” 

“ It is not singular,” said the baronet, “ I have changed 
in sixteen years. I went away a slender young fellow ; 
I am come back grizzled, taller, heavier, darker, and 
with a beard. I never wore a beard in those early days. 
My own wife had not even the faintest suspicion of my 
identity, and I took care that she should not have.” 

A double knock on the house door announced more 
visitors. 

“ We are holding a reception to-night, Diana,” said 
Sir Rupert. “ Who comes now ?” 

“ Some guests whom I have taken the liberty to invite 
to this house,” said Bisset, calmly. “ And here they 
are.” 

The door opened and the footman announced Miss 
Monk and Mr. Monk. 

Sylvia Monk came in leaning on her brother’s arm. 
She wore a white opera cloak over a long robe of light 
silk. She had been to the opera, and had stopped at 
Lady Diana’s with her brother on her way home. 

She advanced to Lady Di and held out her hand. 

“ I received your note, Lady Diana,” she said, in her 
soft, sibilant tones, “ asking me to stop in with Gilbert 
on my way home from the opera. You are not having a 
party, I think ?” 

“ I have no party, Miss Monk,” she said, “ but a little 
reunion I may perhaps call it. Permit me to introduce 
to you in the gentleman you have known as Mr. Tern* 
pest, my own husband, whom I have for many years 
believed to be dead — Sir Rupert Northwick.” 


390 


The H minted Husband. 


Miss Monk and Gilbert Monk expressed their sur- 
prise and tendered their congratulations. They be- 
lieved that they had been invited to witness the instal- 
lation of Sir Rupert Northwick, whom they had known 
as Tempest, in his rightful dignities. 

“ We have made a singular discovery, Sylvia,” said 
Lord Chetwynd. “ Bernice was the daughter of Sir 
Rupert and Lady Diana Northwick.” 

Gilbert Monk uttered a low, half-smothered curse, and 
strode toward the window. 

“ So they have found out who Bernice is,” he thought. 
“ Well, what if they have ? All is not lost yet. I shall 
find the girl — I’m always lucky — and I’ll marry her yet.” 

Miss Monk appeared to sympathize with the parents 
in this latest disclosure. 

“ Poor Bernice !” she sighed. “ If she could but have 
known this her life might have been happier. It caused 
her a great many sorrowful hours that she did not know 
her parentage. The mystery darkened her life — poor 
girl !” 

“ Our conversation seems taking a gloomy turn,” said 
Mr. Bisset. “ This occasion is pre-eminently a joyful 
one, and although I am only a self-invited guest, I ven- 
ture to suggest that we have a little inspiriting music 
before we separate. Lady Diana, will you not order your 
companion — I suppose you have a companion — in to 
play for us ?” 

Lady Diana bowed assent somewhat coldly, and re- 
quested Mr. Bisset to ring the bell. The detective 
officer skipped lightly to the bell-rope and pulled it. 
Then as lightly he skipped to the door and gave the 
necessary order to the tall, beplushed and becalved 
footman, in a whisper. 

He waited at the door until he heard the rustling of 
silken garments on the stairs. 


United at Last. 


39 1 


Then he opened the door. Young Lady Chetwynd 
was in the hall approaching the door of the drawing- 
room. Dropping his little affectations, Bisset gravely 
offered the young lady his arm, saying that Lady Diana 
desired him to conduct her companion into her presence. 

Bernice laid her hand lightly on his arm, and he con- 
ducted her into the drawing-room and under the full 
blaze of the chandelier. 

Then he stepped back, leaving her alone, and cried 
out, in a ringing voice : 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you 
Lady Chetwynd's Spectre.” 

For an instant all was still as death. 

Bernice's brain reeled. She seemed blind. An awful 
horror seized upon her. She believed that she had 
been betrayed to some terrible fate or punishment. 
Her great brown eyes looked in wild appeal from one 
white scared face to another, and then settled in an 
agony of beseeching upon that of Lord Chetwynd. 

She knew him. She felt only in that moment how 
she loved him. She threw up her arms, crying 
out : 

“ Oh, Roy ! Roy ! save me !” 

Chetwynd stood as if turned to stone, staring at her 
wildly. 

“ My lord,” said Bisset, calmly. “ I have done the 
work you set me to do. I have discovered the mystery 
of Lady Chetwynd’s spectre. You have been the 
victim of a diabolical conspiracy between those Monks 
and the Hindoo woman Ragee. Lady Chetwynd did 
not die, but was buried in a trance brought on by a 
devilish Indian drug administered to her by Sylvia 
Monk, I presume. Gilbert Monk rescued Lady Chet- 
wynd, and meant to marry her. She has escaped all 
her perils — she lives — she stands before you, the living 


392 


The Haunted Husband ’ 


wife you loved, the wife you have so bitterly 
mourned.” 

Again Bernice looked to Chetwynd in wild appeal. 
And now, as if galvanized, he started from his frozen 
stupor, bounded forward, and took her in his arms, 
straining her to his breast. She had come back to him 
from the grave ! They were reunited on earth, and 
earth was become to them both a heaven ! 

Gilbert and Sylvia Monk slunk in silence from the 
house, and Bisset tranquilly followed them. Bernice 
told her marvellous story again and again ; Lord Chet- 
wynd told how he had mourned for her, and how she 
had brought back the light and glow and warmth to his 
life ; and Lady Diana and Sir Rupert told their story 
and claimed their daughter, and the night was brimful 
of such joy as is seldom known to humanity. 

We need not linger upon the events that followed. 
Lady Chetwynd returned to Chetwynd Park in a joy- 
ous triumph, and her faithful Fifine accompanied her 
as confidential attendant at a quadrupled salary. Mon- 
sieur and Madame Bongateau found their business 
flourish so rapidly under the extensive patronage and 
recommendations of Lady Chetwynd and Lady Diana 
North wick that they were obliged to remove to Regent 
Street, where they enjoy a lucrative patronage and 
deserved renown. 

The Monks transferred themselves with old Ragee to 
the Continent, and some three months later Sylvia per- 
ished miserably. She had recourse to a soothing 
draught in a fit of physical weakness produced by pas- 
sion, and by some strange mistake took a powerful 
corrosive poison. She died in a horrible agony, the fate 
being iheted out to her which she would have measured 
to Bernice. 

Ragee returned to India, broken-hearted at the death 


United at Last. 


393 


of her nursling and mistress. Gilbert Monk still lives, 
a wanderer on the face of the earth, getting his living 
by that most precarious of supports — “ his wits.” 

Bisset received a princely reward for his services, and 
is fond of talking to his first intimates of the mystery 
of Lady Chetwynd’s spectre. He is a welcome guest at 
Chetwynd Park or Northwick Place in Surrey, and two 
happier homes than these two cannot be found upon 
this earth. 

After the storm has come the glorious sunshine that 
will last while life endures. 


THE END. 


THE IMPROVISATORE; 

OR, 

LIFE IN ITALY. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH OF 


Hans Christian Andersen. 

By MARY HOWITT. 

ILLUSTRATED BY DARBY O- EDWARDS . 

12mo. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This is an entrancing romance dealing with the classic scenes 
of Italy. To those who desire to behold with their own eyes 
those scenes, it will create a fresh spring of sentiment, and fill 
them with unspeakable longing. To those who have visited the 
fair and memory-haunted towers and towns of Florence, Rome 
and Naples, it will revive their enthusiasm and refresh their 
knowledge. Andersen published this novel immediately after 
his return from Italy, and it created an extraordinary effect. 
Those who had depreciated the author’s talent came forward 
voluntarily and offered him their homage. It is a work of such 
singular originality and beauty that no analysis or description 
could do it justice, and the universal admiration which it at once 
excited has caused it to be read and reread throughout the world. 

F or sale by all booksellers and newsd ealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt o i price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Fresh Translation from the German. 


DEAR ELSIE 

51 Novel 


TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 

JOHANNES VAN DEWALL, 


BY 

MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of “ Wife and Woman,” u Little Heather- Blossom,” 
“ Love Is Lord of All,” “ True Daughter of 
Hartenstein,” etc., etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. DAVIS AND WILSON 
DE MEZA. 

i2mo. 330 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


All who have read Miss Safford’s delightful translations from 
the German will welcome “Dear Elsie,” which is one of the 
sweetest and prettiest and most artistic novels from the German 
that we have met with. The characters are quite out of the com- 
mon run, and glimpses are given of high life in Paris, of brilliant 
scenes under the Empire, and of the perils of a youthful heiress 
in the brilliant and corrupt society gathered from all parts of 
Europe by the lavish display of Louis Napoleon’s court at the 
Tuileries. But in German novels, as in German life, honest love 
and simplicity and sincerity of character come out of the crucible 
only purified and strengthened. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
®n receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A CHEAP EDITION 

In Ornamental Paper Cover. Price, 50 Cents. 


A NEW NOVEL 

By the Author of “The Forsaken Inn.” 

A MATTER OF MILLIONS. 


BY 

Anna Katharine Green. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY VICTOR PERARD. 


12mo. 482 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in English Cloth. Gold 
Stamping* on Cover. Price, $1.50. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This brilliant, artistic novel will enhance the great reputation 
of the popular author of “The Forsaken Inn.” It is a story 
of to-day. The scene is laid in the city of New York and the 
village of Great Barrington, Mass. The story recites the strange 
adventures of a beautiful heiress who is herself so mysterious a 
creature that the reader cannot fathom her character until the 
final explanation and denouement of the plot. She is an intel- 
lectual and talented girl, whose musical gifts make her admired 
and beloved by her own sex, and the object of passionate adora- 
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For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

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LIDA CAMPBELL, 

OR 

DRAMA OF A LIFE. 


51 39ot>el. 


EY 

JEAN KATE LUDLUM, 

Author of “ Under Oath” “ Under a Cloud,” “ John Win - 
throp's Defeat ” etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. 31. EATON. 

12mo. 351 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This beautiful story was written one year ago. Even then the 
author had premonitory symptoms of the fell disease which so 
recently struck her down in her youth. Her talent was develop- 
ing rapidly, and she promised to become one of the most popular 
writers of the day. “ Lida Campbell, or Drama of a Life,” is a 
novel of the present. Its characters apd incidents are familiar, 
and have the strong interest of natural sequence and probability. 
The emotional power which is a marked characteristic of Miss 
Ludlum’s work is strongly wrought out in this novel, and the 
most casual reader cannot fail to be intensely interested in it. 

For sale by ' . booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on re' „ipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


LOVE IS LORD OF ALL; 

OR, 

NEIGHBORING STEPPES. 

21 Noccl. 


ADAPTED FROM THE GERMAN 

BY MARY J. SAFFORD, 

Translator of “ Wife and Woman f Little Heather-Blossom ,” 
“ True Daughter of Hartensteinf etc ., etc. 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F. A. CARTER. 


12mo. 350 Pag-es. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


The second title of this story, “ Neighboring Steppes,” indi- 
cates the scene of the story, which is adjoining estates on the 
great plains of Poland. The heir of a ruined and dissipated 
nobleman falls in love with the daughter of a rich Jew who has 
bought one of the estates of the family. The beautiful character 
of the Jewess and the heroism of the young baron are in refresh- 
ing contrast to the narrow pride and contemptible conduct of 
those who endeavor to break off their intimacy. It is a surpass- 
ingly interesting sketch of foreign life made familiar by the action 
of human passions which are the same the world over. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


EUGENIE GRANDET 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF 


Honore De Balzac. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAGAN . 


12mo. Bound in Cloth, $1.00. Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


“ Eugenie Grandet” is one of the greatest of novels. It is the 
history of a good woman. Every student of French is familiar 
with it, and an opportunity is now afforded to read it in a good 
English translation. The lesson of the book is the hideousness 
of the passion of the miser. Eugenie’s father is possessed by it 
in a degree of intensity probably unknown in America, and to 
our public it will come as a revelation. What terrible suffering 
he inflicts upon his family by his ferocious economy and unscru- 
pulousness only Balzac’s matchless narrative could show. The 
beautiful nature of Eugenie shines like a meteor against the black 
background, and her self-sacrifice, her sufferings and her superb 
strength of character are wrought out, and the story brought to a 
climax, with the finest intellectual and literary power and dis- 
crimination. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or nt, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


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